Retribution
by nebula99
Summary: [COMPLETE final chapter is up] Agent Hotchner's past returns to haunt him and those close to him. My first fic on here, so please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Criminal Minds. Obviously.

**Retribution**

Chapter One

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner was sat at his desk, writing up the notes from the evaluation session he had just had with Dr. Spencer Reid. The young man was making great progress. From being a nervous awkward kid, he was starting to blossom into a more confident agent. The firearms skills would come as he gained more experience handling his gun and as everyone knew, his intelligence scores were off the scale.

Dr. Reid was a real asset to the team and Hotch was doing his best to make the young man realise that.

Hotch stifled a yawn. These evaluation interviews were exhausting and he still had Morgan's to do. A knock at the door was a welcome interruption.

"Come in," he called.

"Hi honey," said his wife as she entered. Haley perched on his desk and ruffled his hair. "You look shattered."

"I am," replied Hotch, "How are you? And more importantly, how is my credit card?"

"Exhausted!" laughed Haley. "But you know I needed new boots, and then a new purse to go with the boots and then …"

"Enough," groaned Hotch, shaking his head, "I don't think I want to know anymore. Anyway – are you done?"

"Nearly," replied Haley with a smile, "I just want to try that new toy store on the next block to help Santa with some ideas. I called in to say hi and to get out of the rain." She gestured towards her dripping umbrella.

Just then, her cell phone rang. She took the call quickly and then turned back to Hotch, with concern on her face. "Honey, I need to get home. That was my mom – she can't settle Ben and he's starting with a fever. I think I should be there."

"Of course" replied Hotch. "Where's your car?"

Haley shook her head. "I got a cab – I was hoping to get a ride home with you."

Hotch groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Sorry hon, but I'm going to be stuck here for ages yet." He closed his eyes, feeling the start of a headache behind his eyeballs. Then he opened them, "Hold on, I'll see if Reid can give you a ride – he lives nearby and I think he should be done for the day."

They left the office and headed down to the bull pen. "Reid," asked Hotch, "Can you do me a favour and run Haley home – Ben's sick and she doesn't have her car."

"Sure," nodded the young man with a smile. Then he frowned. "Oh," he said, "I came on my bike today."

Hotch looked grim. He thought for a moment, looking round the bull pen, then he sighed. He shifted from one foot to another and scratched his head. Haley and the rest of the team looked at him expectantly. "You can borrow my car," he said finally, tossing Reid the keys. He looked anything but happy about it.

Reid caught them with a grin. "Really?" he asked, "I can drive your car?"

"Hey," called Morgan with mock indignation, "How come Reid gets to drive the Hotchmobile?"

"Because he'll bring it straight back!" snapped Hotch.

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As he entered the garage with Haley, Reid hit the button on the key fob. The lights on Hotch's Mercedes flashed. Reid smiled and handed the keys to Haley.

"I won't tell him if you won't," he said, winking at her.

"Spencer Reid – you little devil!" replied Haley, laughing. "He's never even let me start it!"

She slid delightedly into the driver's seat as Reid strolled round to the other side of the car. He shivered – it was cold and he had left his jacket in the locker room.

"Try the trunk," called Haley, "Aaron keeps a coat in there."

Reid popped the trunk and sure enough there was a neatly folded winter jacket inside. He pulled it on and got into the car. "Go on," he urged Haley, "Make the most of it!"

The drive didn't take long, despite the pouring rain. Haley was friendly and chatty and Reid enjoyed her company. At Hotch's house, he waited until she was inside, then slid over to the driver's seat. Reaching into Hotch's pocket, he pulled out a woolly hat and grinning to himself, put it on, tucking his hair underneath it. His gun was digging into his hip, so he unbuckled the holster and put it on the passenger seat. Then he set off to enjoy the drive back.

Reid switched on the CD player and the car filled with the sound of Bruce Springsteen's _Born to Run_. He smiled – he just knew Hotch was a classic rock fan. It was a vast improvement on Morgan's unabashed love of Barry White. It was very dark and the rain was lashing down but the Mercedes was a beautiful car to drive and Reid was relishing the experience.

After a few minutes, Reid noticed flashing lights in the rear view mirror. He frowned – he wasn't speeding and he knew he hadn't run any red lights. The police car flashed its headlights at him and then pulled in front, flashing the lights again to indicate to him to follow. Reid sighed – it was probably a routine stop but his driver's licence and FBI badge were in the office. Hotch was not going to appreciate a call to verify the identity of the man driving his car.

He turned down an empty street and the police car came to stop. He pulled in behind. He guessed they wanted to avoid causing an obstruction at this time of day. He turned off the engine and waited.

The rain was so heavy he could hardly see the face of the cop who approached the Mercedes. The man knocked on the window. Reid searched for the control and lowered the window.

"Please place your hands on the wheel, sir," said the man. Reid obeyed. "We have a report that a car of this model was involved in a felony earlier today. Do you have any ID?"

Reid squinted at the man as the rain lashed through the open window. "Um, no," he replied, "But you can …"

He stopped abruptly as the cop pressed the cold muzzle of a gun to his cheek. "Get out of the car," said a low voice, full of menace.

Reid glanced towards his holster. "Don't even think about it," hissed the man. "One move and your brains will be all over this windscreen." Then he opened the car door.

Breathing deeply, Reid got slowly out of the car. He put his hands on his head to show he wasn't going to offer any resistance. Hotch was going to be livid about a carjacking but not even a Merc was worth dying for. He stood still, the rain running down his face as the "cop" handcuffed his hands behind his back. His accomplice had climbed out of the police car and Reid idly wondered why the Bureau was unaware of a carjacking team disguised as cops. Maybe he was the first victim. Fantastic.

To Reid's surprise, neither of the men got into the Mercedes. Instead, the taller man, the one who had originally approached the car, moved the gun to the back of his head. His partner, keeping another gun trained on Reid, opened the trunk of the police car. Reid's heart sank. Knowing that an attempt to escape was futile and realising that this probably wasn't a carjacking, he tried to slow his breathing to avoid a panic attack. He was claustrophobic and the thought of being forced into the trunk of the car was turning his stomach. He was trembling as his mouth was covered in tape and his legs were tied together. All the while, he could feel the barrel of the gun at the base of his skull. He had an overwhelming urge to either pee or vomit – neither of which were going to be possible. Then he was thrown into the trunk of the car and the lid slammed shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Thank you to every one who has read and reviewed the first chapter. I really appreciate you taking the time and trouble to comment. I got some unexpected free time today - so here is chapter two - enjoy!

**Chapter Two**

Morgan came out of Hotch's office and jogged down the steps. "Hey Elle," he called, "Where's Reid? I want the lowdown Hotch's machine!"

Elle shrugged. "He's not back. At least, I haven't seen him," she replied.

Morgan looked at his watch and raised his eyebrows. "Not back?" he said surprised, "He left nearly two hours ago! Oh man, he must be having so much fun."

Elle rolled her eyes. "What is it with you men and fast cars?" she asked him. "He'd better be back before Hotch notices – he'll freak!"

"Oh Doctor Reid," chuckled Morgan, "I can just see him, cruising round the library, nodding at all the hot geeky chicks." He laughed and started to sing, "_You know that I ain't braggin', she's a real . . ._"

"Morgan!" objected Elle. "Anyway, what makes you think he's showing off?"

"C'mon Elle," said Morgan, "He's twenty four years old and he's driving a beautiful car. What do _you_ think he'd be doing?" He carried on singing quietly, "_Go Greased Lightnin', you're burnin' up the quarter mile..._"

"Yes, Morgan," replied Elle, "But he's Reid. You don't think he's had an accident?"

"Nah," said Morgan, shaking his head, "The guy could be a poster boy for road safety. Maybe he scratched the paintwork and he's trying to get it fixed?" He rubbed his hands together, "Or maybe he went for takeout?"

"Here's hoping," sighed Elle

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Reid was lying in the trunk of the police car, switching between feelings of pure terror and being mad as hell. He knew that mad as hell was going to be more useful to him, but pure terror was winning out. His shoulders were aching from having his hands cuffed behind his back and the heat and lack of clean air in the trunk made it difficult to breathe.

He had tried to think about something else, anything to distract him. His mother had read poetry with him when he was a child and he recited the verses of his favourites in his head. But it wasn't working and memories of crime scenes and case details kept interrupting.

He decided to concentrate on his kidnappers. He was a profiler after all and he needed to analyse as much information as possible. As both men were armed and he was trussed up like this, he was unlikely to be able to over power them, so he would need be more cerebral about any escape.

Reid considered why this had happened. It was unlikely to be the car. Why take him if what they wanted was Hotch's car? That meant that it was either him specifically they were after or he was a random victim – of what? He consoled himself that so far neither of the two men had actually been violent towards him – if you discounted kidnapping him at gunpoint of course.

The shorter, fatter guy had seemed jumpy. Maybe they weren't that experienced. Shortly after the car had set off, it had pulled over and the taller guy had flung open the trunk and then frisked Reid, berating his partner for failing to do so earlier. He had found Reid's cell phone and smashed it under foot. Then he slammed the trunk shut again, after commenting in surprise on how young their captive seemed and the journey continued.

If they were nervous and inexperienced, they might be more likely to slip up and enable him to get away. Or, they might be a little trigger happy. He hoped for the former.

Reid had tried to work out where they were headed, but the car had made too many turns. He guessed they were on a highway as the road surface seemed smooth. Concentrating on the details served to ease the panic a little - but only a little.

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Hotch's headache had gotten steadily worse. The pain in his forehead was pretty much pounding by now. He wanted to go home and he owed it to Reid to give him a ride. The rain was still lashing down and the kid had done him a big favour.

He came down into the bull pen to collect Reid and to see if Elle had any Tylenol – women usually carried that kind of thing around. Or at least Haley did.

He stopped at Reid's empty desk. "Where's Reid?" he asked sharply.

Elle and Morgan exchanged a glance. Neither of them said a word.

"C'mon," asked Hotch, "What's going on? Where is he?"

Morgan spoke. "Er, he hasn't come back yet."

"What?" snapped Hotch. This was all he needed right now. Haley was going to be mad at him for being late home and Reid was AWOL in his car - in Aaron Hotchner's pristine Mercedes. "Where the hell is he?" he fumed.

Hotch pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched Reid's number on speed dial. He listened and frowned. Then he kicked the desk. "Damn it!" he said, "Straight to voicemail."

"Have you tried Haley?" asked Elle tentatively.

Hotch called home and talked intently to his wife, striding back and forth. When he had finished he came back to Elle and Morgan. Gideon had joined them.

"Haley said they went straight home and then he left to come back here." Hotch told them. "It's a twenty minute journey – he'd better have a good reason for taking this long."

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After what seemed like an eternity, with road getting more and bumpier, the car came to a stop. The trunk was opened and the two men hauled Reid out. He glanced around – it looked like a farm of some sort. No lights or other buildings as far as he could see.

His captors dragged him across a courtyard and into a small concrete building. They stood him up and untied his legs. Then, with a gun held again at the base of his skull, Reid was marched down a set of cold stone steps.

At the bottom was a large door. Reid was filled with foreboding and despite the warm coat and hat he was still wearing, he shivered. The door was unlocked and he was pulled inside.

Reid looked around. It was a small, bare room with no windows. There was a bucket in one corner and a thin blanket in the other. Next to the blanket were shackles. It looked like a jail cell. The blind terror started to rise again. This had been planned and it looked as though whoever had planned it was going to keep him here for some time.

The tall guy went to the far end of the room and made a call on his cell phone. He had his back to Reid and was muttering and nodding. Reid couldn't make out what he was saying. He just concentrated on the gun barrel the fat guy was pressing into his skull.

Tall Guy finished his call and came back over. There was whirring sound and Reid looked up to see a camera mounted high up on the wall. He stared in what he hoped was a defiant manner at it.

Tall Guy unlocked the handcuffs. Then he stood in front of Reid and held his gun at Reid's forehead. "Get undressed," he snapped, pulling Hotch's hat off Reid's head.

Reid stared at him. What the hell were they going to do to him? He rubbed his tender wrists and his eyes darted from side to side. The panic was growing.

"I said, get undressed," growled Tall Guy, prodding Reid's forehead with the gun.

Reid's fingers were trembling as he undid the jacket. He tried to keep his movements slow and smooth so as not to tempt either man to pull the trigger. He let the jacket fall to the floor.

"Keep going," said Tall Guy.

Blinking back sudden tears, Reid unbuttoned his sweater vest and took it off. His tie and shirt followed. He shivered and then swallowed hard as Tall Guy pointed to his pants.

He slowly lifted each foot and pulled his shoes off. Then he removed his socks. His stomach was churning. Any confidence he had felt in the trunk of the car had evaporated. Reid fumbled with his belt and pants, by now shaking uncontrollably. Eventually he stood in his underwear on the cold stone floor. He thought his knees might give way. He had never been so scared in his life.

Tall Guy was smirking. He handed Reid a T Shirt and a pair of thin sweatpants. "Put these on," he ordered. Reid unfolded the T Shirt. It had the words "State Penitentiary" stencilled across the front. He pulled it awkwardly over his head and then put the sweatpants on. He felt sick. Tall Guy ripped the tape off his mouth.

Tall Guy and Fat Guy exchanged nods. Reid hated them both already.

Then Fat Guy moved grabbed Reid's arms and pulled them behind his back. Suddenly and without warning, Tall Guy swung his foot back and kicked Reid hard between the legs.

The young man gasped with pain and bent over, coughing and panting. Fat Guy seized a handful of his hair and pulled him upright again. Tall Guy punched him in the mouth. And then he punched him in the stomach. And he carried on hitting him.

Reid was reeling from the pain in his groin. His knees buckled and he tried to twist his body away from the onslaught. He sagged forwards and Fat Guy let go of him abruptly. Reid crashed to the floor but the blows kept coming. Instinctively he curled up and brought his hands to his face but both men were kicking him and the pain was coming from all side. He could taste blood in his mouth.

And then it stopped. Reid lay gasping and retching on the floor, aware of the men talking but unable to concentrate on what they were saying. One of them, he wasn't sure who, pulled him by his hair into a kneeling position and shoved the bucket in front of him. Reid shuddered and vomited into the bucket, grabbing hold of it with trembling hands.

Fat Guy then dragged him over to the blanket. Reid was still panting and heaving as his wrists and ankles were shackled. A line of chain connected the shackles on his wrists to those on his feet.

Reid curled into a ball on the blanket, the pain coursing through him. Pure terror and mad as hell gave way to utter misery.

The door closed and Reid heard the sound of several locks. Then a hatch in the door slid open. Reid turned his head towards it to hear a voice say, "Welcome to the slammer, Agent Hotchner."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Again, thanks for the reviews. Keep 'em coming.

**Chapter Three**

Reid winced as he tried to roll over. Everywhere hurt. He put a hand up to his face and flinched when he saw the blood on his fingers. His teeth must have gone straight through his lip – it was throbbing and swelling. His head was aching.

Why had Tall Guy called him Agent Hotchner? He didn't look anything like Hotch. Why did they think he was Hotch? What the hell was going on? What was going to happen when they realised they'd got the wrong guy? Somehow an apology and a ride back to Quantico seemed unlikely.

Reid wasn't sure how he was going to get out of this one. He was cursing himself for ending up here. He should have done something, should have tried harder to get away when he realised what they were going to do. Hotch and Gideon would have fought back. Morgan certainly wouldn't have let himself be tied up and put in the trunk of a car without even a whisper. Elle would have kicked up so much of a fuss the guys would have jumped in the trunk themselves to get away. But_ he'd_ just let it happen.

Why didn't he suspect anything when the patrol car led him to a deserted street? For someone with such a high IQ he could be a real idiot. No-one else on the team would have been stupid enough to take their gun holster off like that. Dejected, Reid shivered as the thin clothes did little to keep out the cold.

He thought the days of being bullied were behind him. They were memories he tried to avoid revisiting. The humiliation of standing nearly naked in front of those men had taken him back to the misery of school. He had tried so hard to be inconspicuous, to avoid drawing attention to himself, but it hadn't worked. He was still a target and the other kids had done anything they could to make his life miserable.

The beating Reid had taken had knocked all his self confidence out of him. He was an FBI agent yet he had been frozen to the spot with fear. He thought they were going to . . . actually he didn't want to think about it. This wasn't over and there could be more to come.

He willed himself not to cry. He was feeling way too sorry for himself and it wasn't going to help. He was going to be OK. Someone was going to find him and he was going to be OK.

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The Tall Guy dialled on his cell phone. The voice that answered was businesslike.

"Is he settled in?"

"Yes."

"Good. Have you prepared the video?"

"Done"

"Excellent. I shall look forward to seeing it when I get there. My flight will land in a few hours. Make the call."

Tall Guy hung up. Then he dialled another number.

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The BAU team were still at the office, unsure whether or not to go home. Hotch was furious, with Reid and with the situation. He had called the traffic department to see if there were any major problems on the road and had been told that there were none. There had been no reported accidents either. All he wanted was to go home and go to sleep but instead he had this to deal with.

Hotch was sat at his desk with his head in his hands when JJ stuck her head round the door.

"The police have found your car," she told him. "They caught two kids driving around in it."

The relief of finding the car was tempered by the fact that Reid wasn't in it. The two joy riders had told police they had come across the car, unlocked and with the keys still in the ignition. They couldn't remember where exactly.

Hotch went to speak to Gideon. "Do we file a missing person report? He's only been gone a few hours."

Gideon considered. "This is out of character. He wouldn't just dump the car like that and it's not like him not to call anybody. I think we should be concerned."

Hotch nodded grimly. He jumped as his cell rang. "Hotchner," he said wearily. It was Haley.

After talking to his wife, Hotch stood for a minute, massaging his temples. The headache was coming back. He had Reid to worry about and now Haley. He could really do without the stress.

"Haley just had a weird phone call," Hotch told Gideon. "Someone told her to check her email."

"Has she?" asked Gideon.

"Not yet. I told her we would look at it here."

Hotch and Gideon headed into Garcia's office. "Garcia," barked Hotch, "I need to look at Haley's email account."

"Hey," said Garcia with a smile, "Can't a lady have any privacy?"

Hotch glared at her. "Okay, okay," sighed Garcia, her fingers poised over the keyboard, "What's her address?"

"Haley dot Hotchner at hotmail dot com," replied Hotch.

"Password?"

Hotch rolled his eyes. "Depp," he muttered, shaking his head.

Garcia giggled. "Oh dear," she said, "Haley ditched you for Johnny?"

Hotch ignored her. He leaned over Garcia's shoulder as she brought up Haley's inbox. There was one unread message. It was from someone called Avenger. The subject heading was "Hello".

"Open it up," said Hotch quietly as Morgan and Elle entered the room.

Garcia clicked on the subject heading.

_I have Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. He will pay for what he has done. Exodus Chapter 21 Verse 24._

Hotch was stunned. "What the hell is that about?"

"An eye for an eye," muttered Gideon. "Exodus 21, verse 24. It's all about retribution."

"Who has me?" asked Hotch angrily, "I'm here. Does anybody understand this?" He put his hands on his hips. "Can this day get any worse?" he sighed, almost to himself.

Garcia cleared her throat. "Guys," she said, "There's a link at the bottom."

"Go on," said Gideon.

She clicked on it and a download site opened up. Garcia clicked on the highlighted file, called _Hotchner_, and the download began. Hotch drummed his fingers on the desk, muttering "Come on, come on."

The file downloaded quickly. The team took a breath as a video started to play on the screen and a familiar figure appeared.

"It's Reid," gasped Garcia.

They watched the footage from the cell in horrified silence. Morgan clenched his fists and his face turned stony as Reid was forced to strip. Elle covered her mouth with her hand. As the Tall Guy booted Reid between the legs each man watching flinched and winced in sympathy. The only sound was the background hum of computer equipment as the violence was unleashed on their colleague. At the end of the beating, there was a shot of Reid laying shackled on the blanket. Then the screen went blank.

Nobody spoke. They were all processing what they had just seen. Gideon rubbed his chin as he thought. Garcia bit her lip, trying not to cry. Elle put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Morgan shook his head slowly then looked enquiringly at Hotch.

Hotch stared at the blank screen, all colour drained from his face. Then he turned sharply and strode out of the room.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reviews and comments. Please let me know what you think of this one - go on, you know you want to . . .

**Chapter Four**

Tall Guy's cell was ringing. He glanced at the caller ID and smiled as he answered it.

"You made it," he said," Did you watch the tape?"

The voice that replied was icy. "That is not Aaron Hotchner."

"What do you mean?"

"You obviously did not study the photographs properly. That man is not Hotchner." The anger in the voice was contained and steady. "I have expended a great amount of time and energy on this project. I need Hotchner. This can be rectified but it will mean a change in plans. You had better be listening carefully."

Tall Guy nodded wearily as the instructions came.

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Morgan was still puzzling out the video. "I don't get it," he said, shaking his head. "This has obviously been planned and organised. Why kidnap the wrong person?"

Elle nodded. "I agree. There's something off about this. No offence to Hotch, but surely nobody could mistake him for a man in his early twenties?"

They looked expectantly at Gideon. He was still stroking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, gazing almost through the screen. "I need to speak to Hotch," he murmured, then set off to find him.

Hotch was in his office, standing in front of his desk, his hands resting on the wood as he leaned forward. He was breathing slowly and deeply, as though trying to calm himself. His face was still ashen.

Gideon opened the door without knocking and perched on the desk next to Hotch's hand. "Talk to me, Hotch," he said evenly, "What do you know?"

Hotch jumped upright. "What do_ I_ know?" he said angrily. "I don't know anything! I haven't the first idea what any of this is about."

Gideon continued, "Has anyone made threats to you or your family? Have you upset anyone?"

Hotch was furious. "Don't you think I would said something if we'd been threatened? I'm not stupid." His tone was caustic. "And I've been catching bad guys and putting them away for a long time. I expect I've upset a few hundred along the way. Does that help?"

Gideon held his hands up. "Calm down, Hotch," he said, "I'm just trying to figure this one out. Take it easy."

Hotch exhaled loudly. "I'll call Haley," he said. "I want them both out of the house."

Gideon nodded. "The Bureau can move her to a safe house. You'd better call your brother as well. This unsub's going to come looking for you."

Ten minutes later, the team were sat in the conference room. Hotch was resting his head on his hands, his body rigid with tension.

Gideon looked at them. "The unsub has Reid. He wants Hotch. We can assume that none of you are safe. I think it best not to return to your homes for now – there are rooms available in the building."

The team glanced at each other. The nervousness in the room was palpable.

"We need a profile," continued Gideon, "What do we know so far?"

"Well," said Morgan bitterly, "the unsub obviously failed Kidnapping 101. He got the wrong guy."

"Which means that he is incredibly stupid at the same time as being incredibly organised," continued Elle, "Or . . ."

"It's possible the unsub doesn't know Hotch that well," responded Gideon. "Remember the weather conditions – it was dark, it was raining, Reid was driving Hotch's car, and from the video, he was also wearing Hotch's clothes."

"Mmm," nodded Morgan, "No-one else ever drives Hotch's car and Reid is about the same height. The jacket would have made him seem heavier and the hat was covering his hair."

"That's right," said Elle, "If someone had only seen a photo of Hotch, it's conceivable that they could have made that mistake, especially in the dark. Or maybe the unsub didn't do the actual kidnapping."

Gideon folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. "So there are possibly more people involved here. Garcia is tracing the email and Haley is giving a statement about the phone call. Anything else?" He turned to the man who had made no contribution. "Hotch?"

Hotch didn't look up. Gideon tried again. "Hotch?"

Hotch sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "I have nothing to add," he said flatly.

Gideon looked at him with concern. "Maybe you should get some rest?" he suggested gently, "It's late and we're all tired."

Hotch got up and walked out of the room without a word, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Morgan opened his mouth but Elle was quicker. "Give him a break," she said, patting his arm, "He must be feeling pretty bad about this. He did ask Reid to drive Haley home."

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Reid awoke with a start. For a moment he had no idea where he was; then as he moved his hand up, the tug of the shackles was a sharp reminder. How long had he been there? His watch had been broken at some point during the beating and there were no windows to reveal the passing of the hours. There was only a harsh fluorescent strip that captured the room in a glare, leaving nowhere to hide.

His body still ached. He had spent the time before he finally dozed off trying to find some comfort in this miserable situation. He hated feeling so helpless.

Reid made a deal with himself. _I can spend my time feeling sorry for myself or I can believe I'm going to get out of here. I need to keep believing or I'll go crazy. I'm done with being a victim._

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked up and saw the camera on the wall. He might as well start fighting back now – the situation could hardly get worse. Reid uncurled his middle finger and slowly raised it to the camera. He smiled as best he could with his swollen lip, and his eyes were dark with defiance.

There was the sound of unlocking and then the heavy door swung open. Tall Guy and Fat Guy entered. Reid looked up at them.

"Get up," said Tall Guy. Reid didn't move. Tall Guy took a step closer. "I said get up," he hissed, his voice full of menace. Reid stared back at him, motionless.

Fat Guy snorted. "Seems he wants another go in the punishment block," he said, cracking his knuckles.

"Last chance," said Tall Guy, not breaking eye contact with Reid. The young man waited until his captor moved closer to him and then slowly and reluctantly struggled to his feet. The shackles prevented him from standing up straight and he stood hunched over, looking up at his captors through his hair.

"What do you want?" Reid asked quietly.

"What is your name?" asked Tall Guy sharply.

Reid knew there was no other way to respond. "Aaron Hotchner," he said simply.

Tall Guy slapped him hard across the face and nearly knocked him off balance. "What's your name?" he repeated, more forcefully this time.

Reid swallowed, absorbing the stinging pain in his cheek. "Aaron Hotchner," he replied slowly.

This time the backhand knocked him to the floor. Unable to put his hands out to stop himself, Reid fell heavily. Winded, he lay trying to catch his breath.

"Last time," growled Tall Guy, squatting next to him. He grabbed Reid's chin, turning his face to look at him. "What's your name?"

"Aaron H . . . Hot . . . Hotch . . . Aaron Hotchner," stuttered Reid, wheezing and gasping.

Tall Guy sighed and shook his head. "Now then," he said, "You know - and I know - that's not true. You're not Hotchner." He paused. "But you do know him."

Reid felt Fat Guy entwine his fingers in his hair and pull him into a kneeling position. He grimaced at the pain but said nothing.

Tall Guy was still crouching in front of him. "Most people would have been screaming and hollering that we'd got the wrong guy. But not you." he said. "You were driving his car, wearing his clothes. And now you're trying to protect him. What is he to you?"

Tall Guy reached behind him and pulled a hunting knife from his back pocket. "You've got such a pretty face, " he said. His voice was soft and full of menace. "Now tell me, pretty boy, where will I find Mrs Hotchner? I know she's not home"

_No chance_ thought Reid. He set his jaw and glared at Tall Guy.

The harsh light glinted off the blade of the knife as Tall Guy turned it over in his hand, as though considering what to do next. Then he locked eyes with Reid and pressed the tip of the knife against Reid's cheekbone. Reid flinched and tried to pull back but Fat Guy's just tightened his grip on his hair.

"Such a pretty boy. I could cut you from here," he drawled, running the blade diagonally across Reid's face, "To here." The pressure was just enough to avoid cutting the skin. "Or maybe here," he added, holding the flat of the blade under Reid's chin.

Reid's heart was pounding. He didn't doubt that Tall Guy was indeed capable of slicing his face open. He'd probably done it before. Reid swallowed and tried to contain his fear. _Bullying only works when they know you're afraid_ -he reminded himself. "I can't help you," he whispered.

Fat Guy tugged sharply on Reid's hair, pulling his head back. The knife was again on his cheekbone. Reid shut his eyes and waited.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Morgan hovered outside Hotch's office. He could hear Hotch talking to his brother on his cell.

"Listen, Sean," he said, exasperation in his voice, "You need to leave now, this is serious."

There was a pause.

"No! I am not trying to _run_ your life – I am trying to _save_ it."

Then another pause as Hotch paced his office.

"For the last time, you need to go with the agents and get to a safe house. I don't know who this guy is but I know what he is capable of. And there is every chance he'll come after my family as well." Hotch's voice dropped. "Please Sean, don't fight me on this one."

Morgan jumped back as Hotch's office door slammed shut. To say Hotch was taking all this badly was an understatement.

He yawned as he headed to Garcia's office. They had all tried to get some sleep but every time he closed his eyes he saw Reid on the video, shaking and fumbling with his clothes. The kid must be scared to death. He knew_ he_ would be.

Morgan leaned round Garcia's door. "Hey - hot stuff," he called.

Garcia turned round. She held a scrunched up Kleenex in her hand and her eyes were red. "Hey baby," she said weakly.

Morgan walked over and put an arm round her shoulders. "C'mon sweetie," he soothed, "Tell your uncle Derek."

Garcia sniffed. "Is he going to be OK?" she said, looking up at her friend.

"Who – Reid?" asked Morgan, although he knew exactly who she was talking about.

"I never saw anybody getting beat up like that before," said Garcia, then her voice cracked and she started to cry again. "They hurt him really badly," she sobbed.

"Shh," said Morgan, rubbing her back. "Reid's tougher than he looks."

"But he's . . ." sniffed Garcia.

"I know," Morgan interrupted gently, "He's everybody's geeky kid brother. And we're going to do all we can to get him back." He cupped Garcia's face in his hands. "So take a deep breath and do your stuff, Cyber Queen. You know I love you!"

Garcia dabbed her eyes and nodded, giving Morgan a faint smile. "I'm on it, Cupcake."

"That's my girl."

--------------------------------------------------------------

The knife slashed instead at Reid's hand, leaving a red trail across his palm. He gasped with pain and shock. Fat Guy dug his fingers into his scalp, twisting and pulling at his hair.

"Have it your way," muttered Tall Guy and he jumped to his feet. Reid's head was being pulled too far back for him to see what Tall Guy was doing. The pain in his scalp was burning. Then Fat Guy let go, shoving Reid forward. At the same time, Tall Guy kicked him hard in the ribs.

Reid yelped and fell backwards, smacking his head on the hard stone floor. He tried to roll over to protect himself, but he didn't get a chance. All he could see were heavy boots, swinging and stamping at his body. He couldn't take this again.

"Stop," he croaked, although the sound was so faint not even he could hear it. It didn't have any effect. The kicks came to his back, his stomach, his knees. "Please stop," he whispered, but in reply, a large foot stomped down on his outstretched hand. He gasped and then groaned with pain. His head was swimming as he tried to drag himself away – but he couldn't remember where the door was. Then he blacked out.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The team had reassembled in the conference room, all with large cups of coffee and dark circles under their eyes. No-one had slept properly. Only JJ looked relatively fresh – and that was due to an industrial quantity of concealer and lipstick for the press conference she had just held.

The press had Reid's photograph and the team were hopeful, although not confident, that witnesses would come forward.

Hotch had hardly spoken to any of them. He was pale and his shoulders seemed permanently hunched tight. His headache was now a constant feature and his stomach seemed to be tying itself in knots. He hadn't eaten for hours – the thought of food made him retch. He felt as though his skin was only just holding in the torrent of guilt and anger. He felt deeply concerned about Reid and yet he was also furious with the young man. His rational brain knew that Reid was not at all responsible for the situation he was in, but being blaming Reid stopped him from acknowledging his own culpability.

JJ updated them. "Garcia has traced the email. It was sent from an internet café in Buenos Aires. The return address is a dummy and the account details are fake."

"Buenos Aires?" asked Elle, "Is that where we're headed?"

"No, " replied Gideon, "We have nothing to say that's where our unsub is. And the kidnapper couldn't have got that far away with Reid in this time. Garcia checked and the café have no records of customers using machines. The local police will be asking questions but I doubt we will get much from that line of enquiry."

Morgan sighed. "So what do we have?"

"We need to look closer at the connection to Hotch," Gideon nodded at Hotch, who just stared down at the table.

"What about the video?" asked Elle. "What did we get from that?"

Gideon sighed. "Very little. There's no sound, so no background noise. Garcia tried facial recognition software, but there wasn't enough on focus on either man to get anywhere. She's going to enhance it and try again."

"So what you're saying is we have squat?" asked Morgan, irritated.

Gideon shrugged. They both looked at the photo of Reid on the board.

Then there was knock at the door and Garcia entered. "Guys," she said breathlessly, "There's another email."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **Again thanks for the reviews. Next chapter is nearly done as well, so may be another update soon.

**Chapter Five**

When Reid came round, he was lying where they had left him – face down in the middle of the room. He didn't have the energy to stand up, so he crawled slowly to the corner. Once there he cocooned himself inside the thin scratchy blanket, like a wounded animal.

Soon afterwards, the light went out. Reid lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of his breathing. He was sure at least one, if not two of his ribs were broken. His hand was swollen and he couldn't move his fingers properly. This was bad.

He couldn't work out what was going on – why they wanted Hotch and what this whole prison game was all about. He was thirsty – really thirsty. He felt the despair and misery rise up again.

Reid wondered if this was how his mother felt. She too was shut away – trapped in both the delusions of her own mind and the walls of the sanitarium. She couldn't escape and maybe it had been desperation that had driven her when she . . . no – he wasn't going to remember that.

He didn't know why he was thinking about his mom. He usually tried not to. The majority of the memories weren't great. Of course he knew that it wasn't_ her_ – it was the _disease_ – but it still made him reluctant to go and see her. He knew the nurses despised him for not visiting but they didn't understand. They worked an eight hour shift, got paid and then went home again. He had lived with his mother's illness for years; covering for her, protecting her, arguing with her about taking her meds. He had grown up under the shadow of it and it was little wonder he had escaped at the first chance he got.

Reid searched through his mind for happier memories. Some of his worst moments were connected with his mom, as were some of his best. He smiled as he relived one of his happiest moments from childhood. He was five years old. Diana Reid had taken her young son to a performance of_ Madame Butterfly_ at the theatre. It was a rare treat; she was a busy woman and her work took over her life. Reid spent a lot of his childhood in the company of babysitters

_Sitting in the theatre, the young Spencer Reid had started to feel sleepy. It was late and the building was warm. His mom was transfixed by the performance and he took the opportunity to snuggle down and rest his head on her lap. Diana Reid was not a particularly demonstrative parent and the cuddles and kisses had been few and far between. Now, however, there was a chance and the small boy took it. She didn't push him away. He smiled as he lay on his mother's lap, letting the music wash over him. He breathed in the scent of her perfume and felt the soft cloth of her dress, rubbing it between his fingers. His mother's hands petted him almost unconsciously and for a little while, he felt safe._

Thinking about how few of these memories he had reminded him of how alone he had been for most of his life. And he couldn't have been more alone than he was now.

----------------------------------------------------------

The team gathered round in Garcia's office to view the email. Hotch wrapped his arms around himself, clutching so tightly at each arm that his knuckles turned pale and the veins on the backs of his hands stood out. His jaw was set firm and he stared straight at the screen, not making eye contact with any of the others. His heart was thumping in his chest and his stomach was flipping over inside him.

He didn't want to see this.

He had to see this.

Garcia opened the email.

_The best laid schemes o' Mice and Men gang aft agley_

_An' lea'e us naught but grief an' pain, for promised joy_

_There may be a miscarriage of justice. Aaron Hotchner – are you willing to let another innocent man be incarcerated to satisfy your ego?_

_If you have the courage to face YOUR punishment, be outside the building at two o'clock._

"What is that all about?" puzzled Elle. "What does it even mean?"

There was another link. Reluctantly, Garcia clicked and the file began to download.

The video began with a shot of Reid making his defiant gesture towards the camera.

"Attaboy Reid," muttered Morgan approvingly.

There then followed his interrogation and the second sickening violent attack.

As the beating played out, Hotch felt the bile rise in his throat. He brought his hand up to cover his mouth – unable to tear his eyes away, yet fearing that at any moment he would be sick. He felt the beads of sweat on his brow. How much more could this young man take?

"They keep this up, they're going to kill him," said Gideon softly. He was frowning at the screen. "I wish I could hear what they were saying." He put a comforting hand on Garcia's shoulder. "Can you print the email for me?"

With damp eyes and very pink cheeks, Garcia nodded. Gideon headed for the conference room, beckoning the others to follow.

Hotch turned and walked with difficulty. His legs felt like Jell-o and he had to put a hand out to steady himself. When he looked down at his hands, he was horrified to see that he was trembling. Although he would never admit it – he was scared.

------------------------------------------

The light flickered on and the door to Reid's cell opened. Fat Guy came in and gestured to him to get up. Reid wearily clambered to his feet. Fat Guy pointed to the bucket and Reid shuffled over and picked it up. He knew he shouldn't be so compliant but he really couldn't take _another_ beating right now.

He followed Fat Guy up the stairs, struggling to hold the bucket and keep his balance. At the top of the stairs, Fat Guy unlocked a door and pulled Reid into a tiny bathroom. There was a toilet, a sink and an enamel bathtub with a shower above it. There was no shower curtain.

"You got five minutes," said Fat Guy, closing the door and standing with his large back pressed against it.

Reid emptied the bucket into the toilet and looked around nervously. He couldn't do this.

"Um, could I, um, er, h … have some, um, p . . . privacy?" he stuttered.

Fat Guy snickered. "Doing a stretch, you don't get privacy. Now, you can use the john here or you can go in the bucket downstairs. Don't bother me." He shrugged his shoulders, "_You_ gotta sleep down there."

Reid swallowed hard. He felt himself blush with shame and embarrassment. He couldn't use the toilet in front of this man. And he really, really, really needed to go. He looked around the room and then back at Fat Guy – who seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. This was like being back in high school – avoiding the bathrooms as much as possible and when he had to go, waiting until no-one was around and locking himself in the stalls.

He shook his hair over his face. It felt sweaty and greasy. He used the toilet and never looked up.

After he had washed his hands Fat Guy pointed to the shower. "Only chance you'll get," he said.

Spencer Reid was fastidious. He was incredibly neat and his apartment, though full to the brim with stuff, was spotless. Everything had its place. He showered sometimes twice a day and washed his hands compulsively. The shower in this room was pretty tempting. He felt grimy and he stank. But he wasn't sure he could strip off and take a shower with an audience. He hadn't exposed his body to anybody since his FBI medical a few years ago. Even when the team shared rooms, he always dressed and undressed in the bathroom with the door locked.

He also knew what happened in prison showers.

As if Fat Guy could read his thoughts he said," Not my thing, pretty boy. Now – you gonna shower or what?"

Reid nodded miserably. His face was burning as Fat Guy undid the shackles and allowed him to undress. He did so slowly, folding the clothes neatly and methodically. He couldn't look at the other man. Fat Guy gave him a warning.

"Just so you know – if you get past me, then you gotta get through a locked door -then out of another locked door - then you gotta find your way back from here - without a stitch on. And it's November." He laughed as he turned the faucet on. "You feel lucky?"

The water was surprisingly warm. Reid turned his back and made the most of the chance to wash the dried blood and dirt from his body. After a couple of minutes, he turned off the faucet and took a small rough towel from Fat Guy. He dried himself as best he could, then put his clothes back on. His hand was bruised and swollen and it made dressing difficult. Finally Fat Guy put the shackles back on.

Reid decided to see if Fat Guy would help him out. "How long are you going to keep me here?" he asked, trying to sound as friendly as he could.

Fat Guy shrugged. "Depends," he replied.

"What exactly do you want from me?" continued Reid. "What I need to do?"

"Stop asking questions for a start, Doctor Reid," interrupted Tall Guy, entering the room. "Don't start those mind games with us. I know exactly who you are – your face is all over the news."

Fat Guy looked expectantly at his colleague.

"This is Doctor Spencer Reid – the Boy Wonder of the FBI," said Tall Guy, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. "Hotchner is his boss."

Reid tried to sound calm. "Now you know who I am, what do you want with me and what do you want with Agent Hotchner?"

Tall Guy stepped up and put his face very close to Reid's. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he grinned. "Let's just wait and see if your boss has the balls to face what's coming to him."

He handed Reid a bottle of water and a piece of bread. "Get him back downstairs," he ordered.

----------------------------------------

Gideon was studying the email printout carefully. Hotch was studying Gideon. He really needed to know what was on the older profiler's mind but he couldn't bring himself to ask. Was Gideon blaming him for this?

"What's with the medieval stuff?" asked Morgan.

Gideon smiled at him. "It's not medieval. It's eighteenth century Scottish – its from a poem by Robert Burns. Roughly translated it says the best laid plans of mice and men often go wrong, bringing sorrow instead of happiness."

"In other words – the unsub is pissed cos he got the wrong guy?" asked Morgan.

Hotch swallowed hard. "What about the rest of it?" he asked, his voice sounding croaky.

Gideon raised his eyebrows and looked quizzically at him. "There is obviously a connection to you, Hotch. What do you think?"

Hotch couldn't answer. He didn't know. There could be a whole line of people with a grudge against him. He shook his head.

"Did something happen - when you were on the SWAT team - or in Seattle?" asked Morgan.

Elle jumped in. "The email talks about justice and incarceration. We catch the bad guys but we don't put them away."

Gideon nodded. "Mmm – I think there is a connection to Hotch's work in the prosecutor's office. We need to go through the cases Hotch worked on, especially those where he took a lead in court. We should concentrate on anyone who has been released from prison in the last six months."

"And from what Garcia has said about the emails, this could be someone with expert computing knowledge," added Morgan.

"What about this deadline of two pm?" asked Elle.

Gideon smiled reassuringly at her. "We've got a few hours before we need to worry about that."

------------------------------------------------

Hotch was sitting at his desk. The words in the document in front of him began to dissolve and he blinked suddenly. He had been staring at this file for ages and hadn't taken a single word in. He rubbed his eyes. His headache was back. He was both restless and exhausted.

Since the discussion this morning, he had called Haley. He didn't tell her about the videos. Instead he listened to her concerns and tried to reassure her that they would all be back home soon. She was going on about missing her book group – he had tried so hard not to frighten her that he had probably played down the danger far too much. Still – he didn't want her to worry.

JJ had brought him a sandwich. He forced himself to eat it. It tasted of dust.

Hotch decided to get some more coffee – just to get out of his office. He strode quickly to the break room where Garcia and Morgan were also getting their caffeine fix.

"Did we identify those men yet?" he said briskly to Garcia.

She shook her head. "Still waiting," she said brightly.

"Well," snapped Hotch, "Maybe if you spent less time on Texas Hold 'Em and more time doing what you are actually _paid_ to do, we would have some kind of lead on this case."

Garcia blushed bright red. "I'd better get back," she muttered and hurried from the room, staring at the floor.

Hotch sighed heavily, then headed back to his office. Did no-one have any sense of urgency about this? Heading up the steps, he heard Morgan's voice.

"Hey!"

Hotch turned round to see Morgan standing behind him. "Excuse me?" he said icily.

Morgan looked furious. "Where do you get off talking to Garcia like that?" he said, with real anger in his voice.

Hotch felt his temper rising up in him. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to, Morgan?" he snapped.

"Garcia is working as hard as any of us on this," continued Morgan, almost shouting. "Don't you go taking this out on her. She's really cut up about Reid."

"And I'm not?" replied Hotch.

"We all are," said Morgan, "But this is nobody's fault!"

"Isn't it?" spat Hotch, storming into his office and slamming the door shut.

Morgan threw his hands up and shook his head. Gideon, who had been watching the whole exchange, jogged past him up the stairs.

Gideon paused for a minute outside Hotch's office, then he knocked firmly and opened the door.

"Hotch," he started, then his tone changed to one of surprise. "What are you _doing_?"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **Please, please review. I need to know if this is any good. It is going to get darker as well. Hope that's OK.

**Chapter Six**

Hotch didn't reply. Gideon tried again. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" asked Hotch. He had removed his jacket and tie and was undoing his shirt. "I'm getting ready to go." He reached for a sweater. "I only have half an hour and I need to write a note to Haley as well."

Gideon held his hands up. "Whoa!" he cried. "You're not going anywhere!"

Hotch stopped. He looked directly at Gideon. "You read the email. I have to be in front of the building at two o'clock."

Gideon shook his head. "Hotch," he said firmly, "You can't."

"What about Reid?" Hotch exploded. "I can't just leave him there! He was in the wrong place at the wrong time – this is MY problem and I'm not going to run away from it!"

"But this isn't the way . . ." began Gideon.

Hotch interrupted. "We haven't got time to worry about protocol, Gideon. I'm not prepared to hide away while Reid gets slowly beaten to death on my behalf. I thought you knew me better than that!"

Gideon put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Of course you want to take his place. But can't you see this won't help him?"

Hotch couldn't see it. He began to pace his office.

"I need to save Reid from this," he pleaded.

"And you think giving yourself to the unsub will do that?" queried Gideon. "You being here is what's keeping Reid alive!"

"What do you mean?" asked Hotch, genuinely shocked.

"While the unsub can use Reid to bargain with, he has some value. As soon as you walk in there, I would bet the farm that Reid gets a bullet through the head." Gideon spoke rapidly and his tone was sharp. "This unsub wants to play with you and what better way than to appeal to your nobility – and perhaps your vanity?"

"Vanity?" Hotch was incredulous.

"Maybe," shrugged Gideon. "You go in there - Captain America - come to save the day - and the unsub kills Reid just to spite you."

Hotch sank down into his chair and put his head in his hands. Gideon was right. He usually was. But how could he stand by and let Reid take what was meant for _him_?

"Hotch," said Gideon kindly, "I know how difficult this is for you, but you are more help to Reid here. I'm already one profiler down – the team needs you. Trust me."

Hotch nodded.

----------------------------------------------------------

At two o'clock a cab drew up outside the building. It was immediately surrounded by the SWAT team. A nervous looking driver eventually got out and was hauled into the building to be interrogated.

It turned out that he knew nothing. A cab had been ordered and he had been told to expect further instructions once he had picked up his passenger. The agents released him.

"Now what?" asked Morgan.

"We keep on checking the files," replied Gideon. "And we wait."

-------------------------------------------

Tall Guy answered his cell phone. "Where's Hotchner?" he asked.

"Change of plan," came the reply. "Start phase two with Doctor Reid instead."

"Are you sure?"

"Please do not question me. He will be staying with you for the foreseeable future. You know what to do."

"Okay. Start now?"

"Yes. But be careful. If he dies, I shall be most displeased."

Tall Guy headed into the kitchen. He prepared the apple as he had been taught to do. Then he poured a cup of coffee. It was cold down there. The prisoner would appreciate a hot drink.

----------------------------------------------

The next email followed soon after the cab driver was released.

"_I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.__"_

_Harper Lee, "To Kill a Mockingbird"_

_I wish YOU could have shown me what real courage is, Aaron Hotchner. I feel sure Doctor Reid will share my disappointment as HE sees it through – no matter what._

There was no video link.

Hotch understood why Gideon had prevented him from going. His logic made perfect sense. Giving himself up would have probably led to Reid being killed – the unsub was hardly going to pat the kid on the head and send him home. But still, the feeling that he had let Reid down again weighed heavily. Reid was being sacrificed in some sick game of revenge that no-one except the unsub truly understood and he could do nothing to stop it.

-------------------------------------------------

Garcia avoided looking at Hotch as she updated the team. He knew he should apologise to her but he just didn't have the energy. He needed to focus on getting Reid out of there – the finer feelings of computer technicians could wait until later.

"I have ID for both of the men," said Garcia, excitement in her voice. "The tall one is called Lewis Barnes and the other one is Jack Barrett. Both have done recent prison time and have a string of violent offences. Barnes was released seven months ago and Barrett two weeks later."

"What about connections to Hotch?" asked Gideon.

"Nothing so far," said Garcia. "But I have current addresses for both Barnes and Barrett."

"Good work," nodded Gideon. He clapped his hands together. "OK – we'll check these addresses out – see what comes up. But I don't think either of these men is our unsub."

"You don't?" asked Morgan in surprise.

Gideon shook his head. "The emails say "I" not "we". There's only one person behind this. These guys could just be the hired muscle. But let's see what we get from the addresses."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Reid leaned back against the cold stone wall, his eyes closed. He felt a little light headed – probably hunger. One piece of bread and one apple had done little to nourish him properly. He had left only the stalk and seeds of the apple, making sure he made the most of the opportunity to eat something. The coffee had been a pleasant surprise and at least it didn't taste any worse than the stuff on offer at work.

He really was feeling woozy. He couldn't quite work out where his arms and legs were. Nor could he move them properly. He rolled his head from side to side on the wall, trying to get his bearings.

Reid lifted his hands. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on them but his vision kept zooming in and out, like someone playing with a camcorder for the first time.

He smiled. He felt OK. His upper body was sinking back into the wall but it wasn't an unpleasant experience. In fact, it was quite relaxing.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Gideon and Hotch were alone in the conference room. Hotch had his elbows on the table and his hands clasped tightly together. He pressed his mouth against his fists, subconsciously sinking his front teeth into the skin. He needed to do something, anything, to bring this tension to an end. He could imagine what Reid was going through physically – he'd seen the aftermath enough times from other cases. But what was the young man thinking? Did he know Hotch had betrayed him?

Gideon patted him lightly on the arm. The touch startled him.

"Stop beating yourself up and start profiling instead," said Gideon gently. "Try some victimology. Look at the _whys_. "

Hotch sighed and nodded. "The place is obvious. I live here."

"And why you?" continued Gideon. "The unsub appears to be blaming you for his imprisonment."

"What about the time?" asked Hotch. "Why now? Is this the first opportunity he's had?"

Gideon leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "He mentioned an innocent man. Why?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Gideon – prisons are full of _innocent_ men! Apparently none of them committed the crimes they're in there for!"

Gideon nodded but he was still frowning, processing information. "Innocent – there has to be a link there," he muttered.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Some time had passed from when Reid first started to feel disorientated. His whole body felt weird – he couldn't really tell where he started and finished. The relaxation had started to fade and was being replaced by something else . . . he was really dizzy.

There was a sudden feeling of nausea in his throat. He looked wildly around the cell for the bucket but he couldn't focus properly on anything. He was starting to panic.

Reid tried to bring his hand up to his mouth but he couldn't really control his movements. His hand flapped around his face which served to increase to queasiness. His breathing was coming faster and his heart was pounding. He needed to find the bucket but he had no idea where it was. He was starting to heave. He crawled to where he thought the door might be. Suddenly, his stomach lurched and he was violently sick. He froze on his hands and knees, eyes watering as he vomited again and again. The liquid splashed onto his fingers but he wasn't able to move. Even though his stomach was practically empty, he couldn't stop being heaving. The bitterness of stomach acid in his mouth made him shudder.

Eventually it stopped. He was sweating and his skin felt like it was burning. Reid bowed his forehead to the ground, trying to cool himself down. Arrows of pain from his injured hands shot up his arms and his stomach was gripped with a cramping pain.

-----------------------------------------------

Elle and Morgan returned from the raids on the addresses given by Garcia full of disappointment. The apartments contained little apart from rented furniture. The occupants had either moved out – or they had never lived there. Rent had been paid for six months in advance – in cash. There was no evidence trail.

Morgan looked at the rap sheets for both men. Gideon was right. There were aggravated assaults, battery, grand theft – auto, but nothing that indicated this level of organisation. These were men who lived a life as part of a criminal underworld, where everyone and everything has its price. They weren't the type to take a grudge to this kind of extreme. If someone upset them they were likely to shoot them - not start playing elaborate games.

Elle brought him some coffee. "You talked to Hotch yet?" she asked.

"_He_ hasn't spoken to _me_," replied Morgan, defensively. "He was way out of line with Garcia. He's acting like a complete jerk."

Elle smiled. "I know. But are you two stags going to lock horns indefinitely? The last thing this office needs is_ more_ testosterone!"

Morgan shrugged.

"Do you_ blame_ him for this?" asked Elle suddenly. "This isn't . . ."

Morgan placed the cup on the table and stared at it. "Of course it isn't his fault," he said quickly. But he didn't meet Elle's eyes.

-----------------------------------------------------

Reid pulled at the cloth of his T-shirt. He tugged and tugged but he couldn't stop it sticking to his skin. He felt so hot and the soles of his feet were burning. He looked round the cell but he wasn't sure where the blanket was. He thought he was supposed to be sitting on it but it wasn't anywhere. The walls kept moving backwards and forwards, changing the shape of the cell every time he looked. Corners were appearing and then disappearing again. He felt so very far away.

"Spencer?" called a voice. "Spencer – where are you?"

"Mom?" he whispered, looking round for her. "Mom?"

"Spencer," called his mother, "What are you doing?"

He kept missing her. He could see her from the corner of his eye, but each time he turned, she had moved. Everything kept moving. Why couldn't things just stay still? The walls were looming close and then falling back in a pulsating rhythm. The nausea rose again.

"Mom – I'm here," he called, "Mom? Please, Mom?"

Reid was panicking again. The sweat was starting to trickle down his forehead. "Mom?" His calls became more frantic – where was she? "Mom!" He heaved and retched again – his stomach having been so completely emptied there was little to throw up apart from bitter yellow bile.

He really needed to get out of here. But the door had moved. Maybe his mom knew where it was. "Mom – where's the door?" he shouted. "Mom! Tell me, please." Tears were filling his eyes. "Mom? I need you - please."

Why wouldn't she help him?

The sound of the door swinging open made him jump. They were coming in. He scrabbled at the floor, trying to crawl back to the blanket. The floor was tilting and sliding. Reid clung on desperately. "Mom?" he whispered. He put his palms flat against the floor and tried to hold it down, to keep it from tossing him around.

He lifted his head. Talons grabbed hold of his arms and started to drag him. He tried to drop to the floor, kicking out as much as he could with his feet chained together.

Reid could see the tub on the floor. He began to struggle. He twisted his body and tried in vain to pull his arms free. Where was his mom? The creature holding him was too strong. He was being pulled towards the tub.

He caught a glimpse of it.

It was full of blood. The viscous liquid was glossy and red.

He started to scream. "No!" he yelled, "No . . . no . . . no." He writhed and thrashed but they wouldn't let go.

He tried to yank his arms away. His heels drummed hopelessly on the cold floor. "No!" he hollered.

Reid was forced to his knees as sharp claws ground into his hair. He shook with horror. No, they couldn't do this, no. He kept screaming.

"No."

"Don't!"

"NO!"

He held his breath instinctively as his head was plunged into the tub. His shoulders twitched violently as he squirmed to get free. Then, as his head was pulled back up, he sucked in air with violent gasps, trying with desperation to fill his lungs. Then his eyes widened in terror as his head was forced under the liquid again.

------------------------------------------------

The BAU returned to pouring over the files from Hotch's prosecution days, looking with increasing anxiety for a link, anything to help them find their friend.

Garcia was still avoiding Hotch. Hotch was still avoiding everyone.

Gideon was concentrating so hard on the list of names in front of him that he jumped when Morgan tapped him on the shoulder.

"We got another psycho mail," said Morgan.

The team didn't hurry to Garcia's office this time. Nobody was in a rush to see Reid getting another kicking, or to read the unsub's taunts and threats.

"I can't trace do much with this one either," said Garcia, apologetically. "This guy must be a programmer. The emails are truly anonymous – this one supposedly came from an internet café in Scotland."

"Let's see it then," muttered Morgan.

Hotch was jumpy, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He tapped his lips with his fist. He hoped that the scene played out on the screen was not going to be the one he had been imagining.

It wasn't.

It was worse.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reviews and comments - always appreciated. Please give me some feedback on this.

**Warning: **This chapter contains spoilers for L.D.S.K (major), Somebody's Watching (minor) and The Fisher King (minor). I am also going to take Reid – and you – to a dark place.

**Chapter Seven**

The email followed a similar pattern to the previous communications.

_You see what power is – holding someone else's fear in your hand and showing it to them!_

_Amy Tan_

_Vile deeds like poison weeds bloom well in prison air_

_it is only what is good in man that wastes and withers there._

_Oscar Wilde "The Ballad of Reading Gaol"_

_Aaron Hotchner – which is harder to bear? Knowing this was YOUR fate or watching HIM go through it instead? _

Garcia's hand trembled as she moved the cursor to the download link. She looked up at Gideon who nodded at her. Morgan leaned forward to cover Garcia's hand with his own as she started the download.

The video clip was mercifully short. Hotch wrapped his arms around his body, digging his fingers into his ribs as he watched Reid struggling and screaming. He held his breath as the young man's head was plunged repeatedly under the water, then gasped for air along with him each time he was pulled upright again. He lost count of how many times this happened. The clip ended with Reid huddled and trembling in the corner of the cell.

Gideon's face was grim. "Garcia," he said gently, "Can you play it again?"

Hotch brought his hands to his face. He almost couldn't watch that again – but he couldn't walk away. He owed it to Reid to at least bear witness to the torment. He watched through his fingers.

Morgan frowned as the video played out again. "Gideon," he said softly, "He's terrified."

Gideon nodded. "Aquaphobia?" he asked, "Does Reid have a fear of water?"

Elle shook her head. "I saw him in the pool in L.A. He was freaked out because a pretty girl kissed him, not because he was in the water."

"But wouldn't anyone be nervous about being nearly drowned?" asked Garcia suddenly.

"Honey," said Morgan kindly, "There is nervous and there is terrified – Reid was freaking out before they even started."

Gideon bent over, studying the screen with intensity. "Can you freeze it and focus in on Reid's face?" he asked Garcia. She nodded and set to work.

The screen filled with a close up image of a clearly horrified Reid. His eyes were wide open with terror and his mouth was contorted with screaming. Hotch moved his hands to look more closely at the screen and then wished he hadn't.

Gideon was silent for a moment, then spoke. "Look at his eyes," he said.

The young profiler's pupils were huge, with just a brief rim of his iris visible at the edge of the large black circles.

"Mydriasis," said Gideon, "Abnormal dilation of the pupils . . ."

Stunned for a moment by how much Gideon sounded like Reid, Hotch gulped.

"Typical response to a number of drugs," continued Elle.

Garcia was shocked. "Is Reid high?"

"That would explain his response," replied Gideon. "It could be a number of substances."

"Well," snorted Morgan, "It ain't ecstasy."

"How can you be sure?" asked Hotch suddenly.

Morgan turned to him. "Hotch – have you ever been to a club?" he said tersely, "Does Reid look like he's ready to start group hugs and all night dancing to you?"

Hotch had had enough. The image of Reid, absolutely petrified and struggling hopelessly to get away, had shocked him more than he had believed it could. He was an experienced field agent, who had seen some truly terrible sights, but this was too close to home. And the hour was too late for dealing with Morgan's sarcasm. He walked out of Garcia's office.

------------------------------------------------------------

Reid was running his hands repeatedly through his hair. It was damp and tangled and his fingers would catch in the knots, causing a sharp pain in his scalp. His clothes were clinging to the sweat on his body. He was so hot.

He looked up and saw his mother standing next to him.

She shook her head at his dishevelled appearance. "Spencer," she said sadly, "What have you done?"

"Mom?" he asked faintly, reaching out to her.

She crouched down next to him, but didn't take his outstretched hands.

"Look at the state of you," she said with disapproval, "You're a mess."

Reid swallowed and looked down at his stained and sweaty clothes. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said miserably.

"How could you end up like this?" his mother asked sharply. "After all I did for you? You're chained up like some kind of animal. Is this what you wanted?"

"But I couldn't stop them," Reid replied quickly, "They had a gun."

His mother shook her head again. "Such a disappointment. You could have done so much – but now look at you."

"Please Mom," begged Reid, "Please help me. I don't know what to do."

"You're a clever boy, Spencer," tutted his mother, "You need to work it out." She turned her head away. "How can you ask me to help after what you did?"

Reid was confused. "W . . . what do you m . . . m . . . mean?" he stuttered.

"You locked me away," she said sharply, turning back to him. "You're too ashamed to come and visit me. You wish I'd just disappear."

"No!" he cried, "It's not like that! You're sick – you had to go to a hospital. You need someone to take care of you!"

"You left me," said his mother sadly. "And now you're all alone."

And then she was gone.

He called out for her. "Mom?" His voice was plaintive. He didn't want to be on his own anymore. "Mom? Please?"

------------------------------------------------

Hotch knew he should try and get some more sleep. The beds provided at the Bureau were more comfortable than some of the motels the team had stayed in, but after sleeping deeply for just as long as his body needed to keep functioning, he was wide awake.

He groaned and sat up. It was five o'clock. He showered quickly and dressed, heading for the break room and a caffeine injection.

Hotch was full of nervous energy. He felt like Reid – always tapping his feet, or fiddling with stuff. The kid was never still. Thinking about Reid made his stomach clench – he had been missing for at least thirty-six hours now and they were no nearer to finding him than when he had first vanished.

Hotch could feel the adrenaline coursing through him. He needed to be out there – doing something. He needed to kick a door in or interrogate somebody – before he went mad.

He finished his coffee and sighed. He needed to get some of this tension out of his system. He was no good at relaxing. Haley went to her book group or did yoga. Hotch couldn't understand how sitting in a room full of women talking about books they had read and then moving swiftly on to listing the faults of their husbands could possibly be relaxing - but it did the trick for his wife.

He needed to work his stresses out. He jogged to the firing range, grabbing glasses, ear protectors and plenty of ammo.

Hotch stood in front of the target and started shooting. He fired almost without taking a breath until the magazine was empty. Then he reloaded and fired again. Then repeated, reloading and firing again and again. When the fourth magazine was finished, he brought the target in – noting with no pleasure that every shot had been a killer.

He pulled the ear protectors off and his shoulders slumped. He remembered the hours spent coaching Reid in here. He had tutored him patiently, trying to build his confidence without overwhelming him. The poor guy had still failed.

Hotch closed his eyes and recalled the day they had both been held in the ER, how he had spoken to Dowd about Reid. He knew he had to make the kicking seem real, to stop Dowd from suspecting anything until Reid had grabbed the gun, but that didn't make it any easier to live with - especially not now.

Reid had laughed it off afterwards – telling Hotch he "kicked like a nine year old girl." Neither of them really believed that. Reid was a hopeless liar and he had looked genuinely hurt by Hotch's words and the subsequent violence. He had felt awkward trying to talk to the young man afterwards – he wished now he had comforted him properly. He'd been proud of Reid for keeping his cool in that awful situation – but he didn't think he had ever told him.

----------------------------------------------------

Reid knelt in the corner of the cell. He was trying to get out. His fingertips were bloody and torn but he kept scraping at the walls. If he could just try harder, he could do it. Sweat was trickling down his face.

The door opened and he flinched. A figure approached and crouched down next to him. He couldn't make out the man's features. A voice said "Drink this. It'll make you feel better."

Reid took the paper cup. "Drink it," the voice said firmly. Reid started to drink the liquid. It tasted sweet – was it Kool-Aid? He loved Kool-Aid as a child. He gulped it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He returned to scraping at the wall. Some time later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Reid turned round.

"Gideon?" he asked.

Gideon nodded. Then he smiled ruefully at his young protégée. "So disappointing," he said, shaking his head. "I thought you were going to be so different."

"I'm not?" said Reid, confused.

"It's not enough," replied Gideon. "You know, I went out on a limb for you. I worked hard to get you on the team, but you just let us down."

Reid's face crumpled. "No I didn't," he said, sounding like a child. "I did my best, I really did."

"We've given up," said Gideon sadly. "No-one wants to find you. We've all had enough."

"But I . . ." Reid's voice trailed off. The sadness in Gideon's face was awful.

"There's something in you," said Gideon, "Something bad. You'll never get out unless you find it."

"Where is it?" whispered Reid but Gideon had gone. He could see Gideon's face in the wall of the cell but he couldn't hear what he was saying. He needed to get the bad thing out.

----------------------------------------------

Once the team were all awake enough to think coherently, they gathered in the conference room. Hotch sat apart from the others. He wasn't sure he could really speak to anybody right now. He had called his brother and had another curt conversation with him. Sean was mad that he might lose his job if he was away from the restaurant for too long and nothing Hotch could say reassured him. He didn't know how long this was going to go on either.

Garcia had tried to narrow down the list of potential suspects. Those whom Hotch had helped to prosecute had been cross referenced with Barnes and Barnett and their known associates. The list still contained too many names.

Hotch had stared at it for long enough. None of the names conjured up a particularly useful memory. It had all been too long ago and he had seen too much since then. He felt that he should be able to help but he couldn't be of any use. He sighed. Reid was God only knows where, going through something that he didn't even want to imagine, and he couldn't even help the team find the unsub.

Nobody mentioned the video. They all felt the urgency but none of them could bear to talk about what they had seen.

Suddenly Gideon spoke. "Child," he said, "What's more innocent than a child?"

Morgan looked up. "You could have something," he replied, "There's a Tony Child on the list. Hotch was lead prosecutor on his case. He got put away for a ten year stretch for battery."

Gideon turned to Hotch.

"What do you remember about Tony Child?" he asked.

Hotch stared at the file. He shrugged. "Another bad guy," he replied. "Nothing out of the ordinary. When was he released?"

Morgan rifled through the papers. "Oh," he said, "It's not him. He's dead."

Gideon groaned and put his head in his hands. "When did he die?" he mumbled.

"Committed suicide in jail last November," replied Morgan.

"November?" asked Gideon, sitting bolt upright.

----------------------------------------------

Reid had started to feel spaced out again. He wasn't sure if he was actually here or not. His body felt too flimsy to support him, so he lay down. There were strange colours at the edges of the walls, dancing in the harsh light.

He had opened up the gash on his palm. He worked his thumb into the flesh, pulling the skin apart. The blood was making his hands sticky. He dug his thumb into the open wound. He needed to find where the bad stuff was.

Reid heard footsteps coming towards him. He knew he should get away but it was too hard to move. There was a sudden kick in the small of his back. Then another between his shoulder blades. And another to the back of his head. He was too drowsy and dizzy to move, so he grunted with each blow, trying and failing to raise his hands as though in supplication.

After a while, he started to hear a voice.

"How (kick) smart are you now, (kick) smart guy! It's (kick) front sight, (kick) trigger press, (kick) follow through! It's (kick) not that (kick) hard! A (kick) Dalmatian could do it!"

Hotch?

The kicking had stopped. Reid lifted his head to see Hotch standing over him, hands on his hips.

"One thing," said Hotch angrily, "I ask you to do one thing. And you can't even get that right."

Reid frowned at him, trying to focus. "I d . . . did what you as . . . ask . . . asked," he replied, stammering softly. "I t . . .took H . . .H . . . Haley h . . . h . . . h . . home."

"You screwed it up!" shouted Hotch. "You are such a stupid kid! I have known dogs more capable than you!"

"No," whispered Reid, "I d . . . d . . . didn't."

"No-one," yelled Hotch, "No-one is going to look for you. We have all carried you for long enough. I have enough to cope with and so do the rest of the team."

Reid's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Hotch."

Hotch was staring at him with contempt in his eyes. Reid's voice cracked, "Please help me," he begged, "Please help me."

Hotch took a deep breath and then kicked him hard in the stomach. Then he turned and walked away.

Reid coughed and shuddered. Then he began to weep. Silent tears rolled down his face as the loneliness hit. He was alone, all alone.

-------------------------------------------------

Morgan and Elle were talking. "Why is this unsub not involved in the torture?" asked Morgan. "Most sadistic personalities would want to be there – they want to cause the pain, to hear the screams"

Elle nodded. "Maybe this unsub is weak – perhaps he has an injury? Or a disability?"

"Or he's a she," said Gideon as he entered the room.

"What do you mean?" said Elle, surprised. "Is that why we haven't seen the unsub?"

"Are there any women on the list?" asked Morgan.

"No," replied Gideon, "But Tony Child has a sister. And he committed suicide a year and two days ago."

"Reid was kidnapped on the anniversary?" asked Elle, "Do we have a location for her?"

"Garcia's working on it," replied Gideon as Elle and Morgan followed him out of the room.

Hotch was left alone. He stared at his hands. The conversation about Tony Child has passed right over him. He was lost in his thoughts. What was Reid enduring while they searched for this unsub? What kind of state would he be in when they got to him? Would they ever get to him? Was Reid going to come out of this alive?

The questions were buzzing around in his head. What could he do for the young man who was clearly suffering so much?

Hotch sighed and stood up slowly. He made his way out of the conference room. His forehead felt tight and there was a stabbing pain behind his eyes. He shut them and pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked slowly down the corridor . . . and straight into Morgan.

The coffee Morgan was holding splashed all over his shirt. "Watch it, man!" he yelped.

Hotch opened his eyes, startled at the impact and Morgan's response. "Watch your mouth, Morgan," he replied sharply.

"Watch my mouth?" asked Morgan, stunned. "You speak to everyone like you scraped them off your shoe and you want ME to watch MY mouth?"

Hotch's head snapped up. "How dare you speak to me like this," he spat, eyes flashing.

"Speak to you like what?" shouted Morgan, "My friend is missing. Probably hurt. And all you care about is how I'm supposed to speak to you?"

Hotch was close to exploding. "You think I don't know Reid is missing?" he yelled. "You think I don't care?"

"Well, do you?" asked Morgan, hand on hip, "Because what are you doing to help find him?"

"How dare you!" said Hotch, full of rage. "How . . ." He couldn't finish. It was all he could do not to punch Morgan. He could see the entire bull pen sitting in horrified silence. He barged past Morgan and went straight into his office, slamming the door so hard the frame shook.

Elle and Gideon had come out of Garcia's office when they heard the commotion. Morgan was staring down at his feet.

Elle put a hand on Gideon's arm. "You need to do something," she urged, "Or we're going to see punches thrown soon."

Gideon nodded. "Hotch is taking this hard," he said. He took a deep breath and set off up the stairs to Hotch's office.

As he opened the door, JJ came running up the stairs. "You gotta come quickly," she said, "Garcia has another email."

Hotch nodded wearily at Gideon and followed him and the rest of the team to Garcia's office. Both he and Morgan kept as far apart from each other as they could.

The email was open on the screen.

_You can't blame the innocent, they're always guiltless. All you can do is control them or eliminate them. Innocence is a kind of insanity._

_Graham Greene "The Quiet American"_

_I've been playing a little rough with your agent._

_Oops._

_I think I broke him._

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone for the reviews and PMs (wink!). Sorry about taking so long to update. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

**Warning: **This gets quite dark – I really could do with some feedback on how this ends.

**Chapter Eight**

Hotch took a step back. Gideon placed a gentle hand on his elbow. "Don't jump to conclusions," he said softly.

Garcia started the download. Everyone was tense. On the other side of the office, Morgan was rubbing the back of his neck rapidly whilst Elle held on tightly to his shoulder.

The video began to play. There were a number of disjointed shots of Reid, showing him tugging at his hair and his clothes and becoming more agitated. Then he was talking, staring intently into thin air as he held a one-sided conversation. The video ended with him lying on the floor, his lips moving rapidly as he muttered to himself. Morgan swore under his breath as Reid lifted his head and vomited weakly, over the floor and down his T-Shirt. Then he flopped back down and closed his eyes.

Hotch was trembling. It was Reid's appearance that had shocked him the most. To see the neat and tidy young man so dishevelled and dirty was a shock. And worst of all, he was lying in a pool of his own puke. The unsub was right – he was broken.

Hotch pushed Morgan aside and stumbled out of the room. He ignored the calls from his colleagues and made his way up the stairs to his office, clinging on to the rail to help him up. Tears were swimming in his eyes and he needed both hands to push open his office door. Then he pushed it shut behind him and it closed with a thud.

He felt the emotions he had been suppressing for so long starting to erupt.

It is not possible to keep a lid on a volcano forever.

Hotch pulled off his shoe and hurled it at the array of trophies and certificates behind his desk. It hit the target with a spray of shattered glass. His shoulders shaking as the tears finally began to trickle down his face, he grabbed his other shoe and threw it in the same direction as the first.

A sob rose up in his throat and he barged his shoulder into the office door, slamming his body against it over and over. This was all his fault. Reid was dying and it was all his fault.

With a roar, Hotch swept the contents of his desk to the floor then spun round, the hot angry tears blurring his vision. The coat stand went crashing down, followed by both his chairs. Stumbling, Hotch slammed his hand against the door, yelling "No! Not him!"

Then as his grief overtook him, Aaron Hotchner sank to his knees, put his face in his hands and began to sob. His shoulders heaved and tears coursed down his face as he howled - with pain, with anger and with sorrow.

--------------------------------------------------

Gideon hurried up the stairs, closely followed by Morgan and Elle. They stopped outside Hotch's office, listening to the crashing and shouting. Elle moved towards the door handle, but Gideon put a hand out to stop her.

"He needs to do this," he said gently. "I'm surprised it's taken this long."

Elle nodded. Morgan said nothing and just stood, staring at Hotch's closed door.

------------------------------------------

Tall Guy was standing outside, smoking a cigarette when his cell phone rang.

"How is he?" asked the voice.

"Gibbering," said Tall Guy with a chuckle. "I think he actually peed his pants when Jack was screaming in his face."

"Good. I'm on my way. I should be there in a couple of hours. You will need to give him another dose."

"That could be a problem," he replied, "I'm not sure he'll drink it."

"In that case, hold his head back and open his mouth. As you pour it in, he'll have to swallow." There was a pause. "Actually – just hold him down anyway, whether he's willing to drink or not."

"No problem."

"You know – this is working out even better than the original plan. Good work."

----------------------------------------------------

After nearly half an hour, Gideon turned the handle and pushed Hotch's door open. Hotch was sat on the floor in the middle of the debris. He looked at Gideon with red and swollen eyes.

"Hey," said Gideon softly. "I brought you some tea."

Hotch sniffed as he took the cup. "Thank you," he whispered.

Gideon sat down next to him. "This isn't your fault," he said. "You didn't cause this."

Hotch's voice cracked. "Do you really believe that, Jason?" he asked. "Reid is there because of me." His eyes filled once again with tears.

"We'll find him," reassured Gideon, "And he'll be OK."

"I wish I could believe that," mumbled Hotch, shaking his head, "He looks pretty destroyed to me."

Gideon stood up and held his hand out to his colleague. "C'mon," he said, "I'll help you tidy up."

"Gideon," came a voice from the doorway, "Garcia has some information on Tony Child's sister."

Hotch looked up towards Morgan. Morgan nodded curtly at him, then turned to Gideon. "Are you coming?" he asked.

"I'll be right there," replied Gideon, helping Hotch to his feet.

--------------------------------------------

Reid had pushed himself into the furthest corner of the room. He pressed as much of his body as he could into the brick walls while he once again re-opened the wound in his palm. No matter how deep he dug his thumb into the bleeding tissue, he couldn't find the bad thing that Gideon had mentioned. Maybe it was somewhere else.

If it was in his head, he would need to get through his hair first. He grabbed another handful and pulled hard. When he looked at the strands he had yanked out, he noticed that the backs of his wrists had been rubbed raw by the shackles. Perhaps it was there. He lifted his wrist to his mouth and began to try to open the skin with his teeth.

Figures came in and out of the room. Sometimes the door opened, sometimes it didn't. Reid didn't look up, but concentrated instead on the attempts to get inside his body.

A slap to the side of his head made him turn. The face he saw, skin hanging off and eyes missing caused him to stop biting at his wrists and start gasping in horror. His breathing was coming faster and he twisted his body away from the sight. He was trembling, shrinking away from the horrible sight. The fear taking hold of him, he started to whimper.

When he looked back, some time later, his mother was there. The panic subsided a little. "Help me, mom," he said faintly, "I can't find it."

"You heard what Gideon said," she replied, "You need to look deeper."

"Mom?"

"I thought you were going to do so much with your life," she said, her voice flat. "Unless you try harder, I won't come back. Spencer, this is too much for me. I can't give you what you want."

"Please stay with me, Mom," implored Reid, with desperation in his voice, "I don't want to be on my own anymore. Please, I need you, please."

His mother sighed. "Don't beg, Spencer. It isn't dignified." Then she was gone.

He let out a howl of anguish. "Mom!" he bawled, "I need you – Mom!" He started to bang the back of his head against the wall, screaming one word over and over again – "Mom!"

------------------------------------------------------

Hotch had gone to take a shower. The rest of the team were happy to allow him some space. No-one had ever even seen him really lose his temper before, let alone completely break like that. No-one, apart from Gideon, quite knew what to say.

Garcia showed them what she had found. "Jessica Child – Tony Child's sister." She pointed to a woman in her early thirties, with short blonde hair. "Hotch might remember her more than her brother – she threw water over him in the courtroom as her brother was convicted."

"Feisty lady." said Morgan, "But angry enough to do this? From looking at the case, it was open and shut – witnesses and plenty of evidence. There's no way Tony was innocent."

"There's more," said Garcia, "Two months after Tony Child hung himself, Jessica was reported missing - feared dead. Her car went into a ravine – no body was found, but the trail ends there – no bank account activity, credit cards, nothing."

"But there is still no proof that she's dead," mused Elle. "Is she our unsub?"

"She has a degree in computer science. That would help with the emails," said Garcia. "Whoever sent them knew what they were doing."

"OK," sighed Gideon. "So we have our unsub – Jessica Child or whatever she's called now. Try the facial recognition software, Garcia, but if she's flown under the radar so far, it could be a long shot."

"Are _you_ going to talk to Hotch about Tony and Jessica Child?" Elle asked Gideon.

He shrugged. "He's not in a good place at the moment though. He's tearing himself apart with guilt about Reid."

Morgan said nothing. He was still mad at Hotch for the way he had been acting and was now also feeling guilty because his boss was obviously cracking up under the strain. He thought it best if he just kept silent.

He was starting to doubt that they were going to get Reid back in one piece and he guessed Elle was too. No-one was going to say it out loud though. They had to keep strong and keep working. Morgan had told Garcia that Reid was tougher than he looks and he needed to keep believing it himself. Hotch had already lost it – at least some of the team had to hold it together.

-----------------------------------------------------

Reid pushed his hair away from his face. He was sweating and shivering. He was in darkness. The rest of the building had fallen away and there was only this room. Outside it was nothing - swirling darkness, emptiness. He was alone. He was completely alone here.

No-one was coming for him, no-one wanted him.

He was going to die here.

Maybe he was already dead.

Maybe he was in hell.

----------------------------------------------------

Hotch called Haley. He needed to hear her voice, needed to talk about something else. She asked after Reid and Hotch told her they were getting there with the investigation. She put Ben next to the phone and he babbled baby sounds down it. Haley assured her husband that their son was saying "Daddy" and Hotch humoured her.

Then he called Sean. His brother was going stir crazy and was anxious about getting back to his own life. Hotch tried to reassure him, but Sean was not stupid and he could tell by his brother's voice that all was not well. Hotch couldn't tell him about Reid and gave an explanation of tiredness that both of them knew was a lie.

Afterwards, he grabbed a cup of coffee and went into his office. Someone had swept up the broken glass and there was a candy bar on his desk. Probably JJ – she was thoughtful like that.

He knew he should be concentrating on the case but thinking about Tony Child made him filled him with dread. Had he really sent an innocent man to jail? Hotch had loved his appearances in the court room, striding back and forth, showering the jury in facts and insinuations. The drama and performance of it all had been a real adrenaline rush. But had Tony Child paid the price for his vanity? Was Reid paying it too?

Hotch put his head in his hands. He couldn't cry anymore. The tears had been cathartic, allowing a release of the tension that had built up inside him. However, that stress had now been replaced by despair. They were never going to find Reid.

------------------------------------------

Reid had curled into a foetal position on the floor. He couldn't move his body anymore – he wasn't even sure it was his body. He was drifting, floating. Everywhere was darkness.

He could hear Gideon talking. His tone was harsh. Gideon kept telling him to get up, to do something but he couldn't.

"You're not who we thought you were," said Gideon, "I am so disappointed in you."

"I'm trying," whispered Reid, "It's too hard."

"That's it, just give up," snapped Gideon. "You're such a failure. You're useless."

"I'm not," wept Reid, "I'm not."

Gideon's voice faded away. The only sound was Reid's feeble sobbing.

------------------------------------------

Alerted by Garcia's shout, Morgan hurried to her office. "What you got, gorgeous?" he asked.

"I ran the facial recognition software and I think I've found Jessica Child – or Louise Carter as she might be called. I have an address in Georgetown," said Garcia proudly.

Morgan bent over and kissed the top of her head. "Penelope Garcia – you rule!" he grinned.

"Yes I do, honeypie," replied Garcia with a grin, "I rule. Now go get that bitch."

-----------------------------------------

The woman strolled into the farmhouse kitchen where Tall Guy and Fat Guy were sat at the table. "Hello gentlemen," she said, "How's the prisoner?"

Fat Guy shrugged. "At least he stopped screaming," he replied. "But it stinks down there."

"Time to move out then," the woman said. "Go and get him."

Fat Guy started down the stairs. The woman smiled at Tall Guy and whispered in his ear. He raised his eyebrows at her, but took the envelope she held out.

A couple of minutes later, Fat Guy reappeared, dragging a limp Reid up the stairs.

The woman walked over to him and bent down. She pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. "Poor baby," she said, "You just want it to stop, don't you? Never mind, it'll all be over soon."

Reid stared at her in confusion as though trying to recall her face. He flinched when she touched him. The woman swept her long auburn hair back and turned to the two men. "You're right – he smells dreadful," she said, "The truck is open. Get him into the back."

As they hauled Reid to the waiting truck, the woman fingered the revolver hidden in her purse.

-----------------------------------------------------

"Freeze, F B I !" yelled Morgan as the door to the house flew open. He scanned the room. "Clear!" he yelled and moved into the next room.

The team moved through the house. It was empty. There was no furniture and obviously no-one living there. Morgan swore and kicked the wall in frustration.

"Is there a basement or outhouse?" he asked the other officers. They searched the property, checking everywhere, but there was nothing. It was a dead end.

Sat in the car driving back to Quantico, Morgan pressed his fist to his mouth, full of rage and frustration. He had really thought they were going to find the unsub and rescue his friend. But now they were back to square one.

"Hey Elle," he said softly, "We are going to find him, right?"

Elle turned away from staring out of the window. "I keep telling myself that," she said, "Its been a long time."

Morgan nodded. He was starting to feel sick inside. What if all they ever found was a body?

--------------------------------------------------------

Back at the office, the mood had dipped even lower. There had been such excitement when they finally identified Louise Carter, but the disappointment of the address turning out to be fake was hard to bear. Hotch wasn't shouting at anybody any more, nor was he any use to the investigation. He spent most of the time with his head in his hands, lost in grief and despair.

The hours passed slowly. Teams of police officers were searching abandoned buildings – mainly so the Bureau would feel that something was being done, but as Reid could be anywhere, there was little optimism that they would find anything.

Gideon studied the list of quotations from the emails – there was no obvious link, but as Louise Carter had put so much effort into this, he thought it unlikely they would be random. However, what he really needed was Reid and his abilities to see patterns and answers. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He was so tired, and if he was honest with himself, close to tears of his own.

Then Garcia approached. "There is another email, sir."

She opened it up.

_Justice is a terrible but necessary thing_

_A rattlesnake that doesn't bite teaches you nothing_

_Jessamyn West_

_He's no fun anymore._

_You can have what's left._

At the bottom of the email was a grid reference.

"What's that?" asked Elle.

"Map reference," replied Gideon. "She's telling us where to find - something."

"And what _are_ we going to find?" asked Morgan. No-one answered.

---------------------------------------------

Hotch was on the way out of his office when a secretary stopped him.

"You have a letter," she said, handing him a large heavy envelope. Hotch glanced at it, then put it on his desk. It could wait.

Gideon seemed surprised to see him joining the other agents preparing to head out to investigate the grid reference.

"Hotch," he started, "You don't . . ."

"I know," said Hotch quickly. "I don't have to but I want to."

-------------------------------------------------

The BAU team, along with other FBI agents and the SWAT team scoured the area of Quantico indicated in the email. There were a few buildings, all of which were searched thoroughly. There was no sign of Reid.

Hotch could hardly contain his frustration. They were coming so close to finding him and yet being thwarted at every turn. He was barely civil to the other agents, as though speech was a luxury he didn't have time for.

Suddenly Elle came running towards him. "Hotch," she cried, "I think we've something."

Hotch followed her along a piece of waste ground between two abandoned buildings. Parked behind one of them was a white truck.

As Hotch came close, the back doors of the truck were spotlit in the darkness. His stomach was churning and his hands were shaking very slightly. He wanted to find Reid. He was terrified they were going to find Reid.

One of the SWAT team had brought bolt cutters and they were making swift work of the chains securing the doors of the truck.

At last the chains were off. The team gathered round the doors, weapons at the ready. The fear and tension were filling the air, giving a soundtrack of pounding hearts and nervous swallows.

"Ready?" asked Morgan. They nodded. He stepped forward and pulled open the door of the truck. He shone the spotlight he was carrying inside.

Nobody moved as they took in the image before them. It was like a scene from a slaughterhouse. There was blood everywhere - sprayed up the walls of the truck, spread in messy puddles on the floor. There was stench of urine, vomit, blood and sweat.

Hotch felt himself gag as he came closer. There were two bodies on the floor – Barnes and Barrett. Gideon was shaking his head, taking in the horror in front of him. Elle stepped into the truck, almost slipping on the sea of blood. Was there nothing but death in this place?

A sound caused her to turn. She pointed at the very back of the truck and Morgan moved the spotlight.

There, huddled in the corner, was a figure. He was covered in blood. There was blood in his hair, on his body, all over his clothes. He was sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped round his legs. His head was bent, pressed onto his knees. He was trembling and whimpering.

Elle took a step closer. "Reid?" she said gently.

The figure lifted his head and looked up at her. His breath hitched a couple of times and then his face crumpled. He gulped as he started to cry.

"I want my mom."

His shoulders heaved as his sobbing grew louder. "I want my mom."

Everybody froze. The only sound was Reid wailing.

"I want my mom."

"I want my mom."

"I want my mom."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **As ever, the time and trouble taken to review is always appreciated.

**Warning: **Writing this chapter was harder than I thought it would be. It is dark stuff.

**Chapter Nine**

At the back of the truck Hotch stared at Reid, aghast. His face had gone deathly white. Of all the scenarios he had imagined, Reid sobbing like this had not been one of them. He didn't want to imagine what had caused the young man to be crying for his mother. Hotch was torn between a paternal urge to comfort him and utter horror at what he had been brought to. He lowered his gun.

Elle's face softened as she looked at Reid. With tears and snot running down his face, he looked about ten years old. She glanced at Gideon, who nodded at her, his face full of pain.

Elle holstered her gun and quickly removed her vest. Reid was sobbing and gulping, crying so hard that he was no longer able to speak. She held her hands out and took another step towards him.

"Spencer," she said softly, "It's OK. It's Elle."

Gradually, she moved closer. Reid kept howling, sounding utterly lost.

Elle was not maternal. She disliked babies and children and had never really had the urge to have any of her own. She also didn't deal well with tears - she was not the touchy feely type. However, her eyes filled up at the anguish her friend was so obviously feeling.

She reached the corner where Reid was sitting. "It's OK, Spencer," she said, and sat down next to him. He turned to her and his eyes were full of fear and sorrow.

"I w . . . w . . . want m . . . my m . . . m . . . m . . . mom," he stammered, struggling to speak between heart wrenching sobs.

Elle put her arms around his thin shoulders and pulled him towards her. "I know sweetie," she soothed, "It's OK." Reid rested his head on her breast and she stroked his hair. "It's OK, Spencer, it's OK."

Morgan had been staring in disbelief at Reid. Suddenly, he blinked and remembered himself. He turned to the agents waiting outside the truck. "Get the paramedics here – now!" he barked.

-----------------------------------------------------

Hotch started to stagger as he backed away from the truck. He put a hand out to steady himself and slid along the side of the truck until he was out of sight. Then he bent over and retched onto the grass. He kept heaving until his throat was burning. It was partly the smell of the truck but mainly the sight of Reid. He had thought that finding the young profiler would allow him some peace at last, but the state Reid was in just reinforced the horror of what had happened. He knew how strong Reid was – he had survived so much crap in his childhood to come this far – so whatever had broken him, it had to be bad.

Hotch reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. He needed to pull himself together. Reid was in pieces and it wouldn't do for him to collapse as well. He desperately wanted to just go home and hold his wife and son and to forget that all this had every happened. But he was responsible for Reid being here and he needed to take care of it.

----------------------------------------

The paramedic started towards Reid. He cowered away, twisting his hands into Elle's T-shirt and shaking his head. Morgan put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Wait here," he said firmly, "I'll get him."

Morgan approached Reid. "It's OK, buddy, I'm just gonna get you to the ambulance."

Reid shook his head. He muttered, but most of what he said made no sense. Odd words were intelligible, but that was all. Elle continued to stroke his hair and make soothing sounds.

Morgan bent down and picked Reid up. The young man felt so light in his arms. Reid clung to Elle's hand and she kept step with Morgan as he carried his friend to the waiting ambulance, laying him gently on the gurney.

"I'll ride with Gideon," he said, nodding at Elle.

Reid rolled onto his side and curled up. He pulled the blanket over his head and continued to mutter and mumble. Elle sat next to him, trying to comfort him and let him know there was someone there for him.

Morgan jumped back down and headed towards the car, where Gideon was already waiting. He had his eyes closed and looked stricken.

"Where's Hotch," asked Morgan as he started the engine.

"Gone back to the office," replied Gideon, "Louise Carter is still out there. Someone needs to keep looking."

Morgan raised his eyebrows, but Gideon would not be drawn.

--------------------------------------------

The room was so bright – too bright. There were far too many people and the noise was intolerable. Holding his hands over his ears wasn't enough to keep out the noise. Pulling the blanket over his head seemed to help, but only a little.

"They're watching you," said the voice. "All of them, they're watching you. They know all about you."

"Where is she?" he whispered. "What have you done with her?"

"She's not coming." replied the voice harshly, "She knows just who you are. You're worthless and they all know it."

He shook his head. The harsh lights were making the voice much louder. He pushed his teeth into the open wound on the back of his wrist, finding the metallic taste of blood comforting in this confusion.

------------------------------------------------

"Put him in exam three," said the young doctor. "It's fairly quiet in there." She turned to Elle. "Would you like to sit with him whilst I get a history?"

Elle nodded and followed the paramedic down the hallway.

"My name is Georgia Burridge," said the doctor, holding her hand out to Gideon and Morgan. "Can I take some details about Spencer?"

Gideon nodded. He answered as many questions as he could about Reid and his medical history.

"Do you know what he's taken?" asked Dr. Burridge.

Morgan stepped forwards. "Excuse me, ma'am, but my friend did not _take_ anything. He has been _given_ something. He didn't take it willingly."

"My apologies," replied Dr. Burridge briskly. "I'm just trying to find out what I'm dealing with. Do you know what it is?"

Gideon shook his head. "I'm guessing a hallucinogen of some sort."

Dr. Burridge nodded. "The rapid eye movements he is making and the raised body temperature are indicative of Phencyclidine, but I can't be sure without testing for it."

"PCP?" asked Gideon.

"This area of the United States has the highest concentration of PCP usage in the country," replied Dr. Burridge. "We see a lot of casualties here. Does he have any history of mental illness?"

Morgan's cell rang and he turned away. Gideon sighed heavily, then answered. "His mother has schizophrenia."

"I see," said Dr. Burridge. "Has Spencer ever exhibited paranoid behaviour before?"

"No," said Gideon softly. "But he has just been through a terrible experience."

Morgan returned. "The CSI team want Reid's clothes," he told Gideon. "They're evidence."

Gideon rolled his eyes. "Surely he isn't a suspect?"

Morgan shrugged. "He's the only one alive with two dead bodies. Of course he's a suspect until they prove otherwise."

Gideon nodded wearily. "Any news on the cause of death?"

"Not yet, but from the rigor mortis present, they'd been dead at least four to six hours," replied Morgan.

"And Reid was in there the whole time?" asked Gideon, although he knew the answer.

Morgan's face was grim. "Looks like it. He's been tripping for hours and then locked in a truck with two dead bodies. No wonder he was freaking out."

"I'll get his clothes," said Gideon. "I don't think Elle will feel too comfortable about asking him." He headed towards the exam rooms.

Morgan hit the speed dial on his cell.

"You found him?" asked Garcia, slightly breathless with nerves.

"Yeah, sweetheart, he's alive." said Morgan, sounding somewhat downbeat.

"But how is he?" queried Garcia.

"He's alive, baby," replied Morgan, "Let's just leave it at that."

---------------------------------------

Gideon entered the exam room holding a set of scrubs. Reid was sat up on the bed, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth. Elle was holding his hand and murmuring to him. Gideon spoke softly in her ear and she nodded.

"I'll go and get some coffee," she said. Elle turned to Reid. "I'll be right back, OK?"

Reid didn't answer. He kept rocking, muttering unintelligibly. His speech was more a garbled collection of words than any meaningful communication.

"Spencer?" said Gideon softly. "It's Jason. I need to take your clothes and we can get you more comfortable."

Reid didn't look up. He seemed to be licking the back of his wrist. Gideon decided to concentrate on getting the clothes.

Reid stopped rocking and stayed perfectly still, lifting his arms as Gideon pulled the filthy T-shirt over his head.

"Well done," nodded Gideon, helping the young man into the loose fitting hospital top. "Now I need your pants."

Reid looked up. He blinked at Gideon and then started to shake his head. His fingers plucked at the skin on his arms. "No," he said, "No, no, no, no."

Gideon put a hand on the young man's arm. "Spencer, nobody is going to hurt you."

Reid flinched at the touch. He carried on shaking his head. "No, you don't - you don't," he said, "Stop it."

Gideon tried to be firmer. "Listen to me, Spencer," he said evenly, "We want to help you, but you need to let us."

Suddenly Reid scooted sideways and dropped off the bed. "I'm not!" he hissed at Gideon. "I'm not!" He pulled himself to his feet.

"Shush," said Gideon gently, taking a step towards him. "It's just me, Spencer, it's Jason."

Reid stumbled backwards. "G . . . get away," he warned. "I know w . . . w . . . what you want."

"What do I want?" asked Gideon, starting to worry about the young man's reaction to him. There had always been a relationship of trust there. He needed to re-establish it. He held his hands up to show Reid he wasn't going to hurt him.

Reid paused, as though listening to something. Then he grabbed a metal tray from the table next to him and hurled it at Gideon. It crashed to the floor.

"I'm not!" he yelled. "You won't help me! Go away."

"Spencer," began Gideon, "I . . ."

"Go away!" shouted Reid, leaning his body against the back wall. He looked round wildly, grabbing the clipboard lying on the table. He wrenched off the clip and dug it into his hand. "You know where it is and you won't tell me!" he bawled at Gideon.

Gideon was shocked. Reid seemed so frightened and angry. What had been done to him? He put on a smile and moved slowly towards Reid. Surely he could make a connection with the young man?

"GO AWAY!" Reid was twisting the sharp metal clip into the cut on his hand. "GO AWAY!"

---------------------------------------------

Alerted by the commotion, Dr. Burridge was in discussion with a small group of nurses and orderlies. They gathered outside the exam room.

"On my count," she told them, "We take him down on three."

The group marched determinedly into the room. Dr. Burridge spoke to Reid.

"Spencer," she said, as though talking to a naughty child, "You need to calm down."

Reid was by now shouting, his words sounding disjointed and garbled. His hand was bleeding heavily and he stabbed the metal clip like a knife into his flesh.

Dr. Burridge nodded at the other members of staff. "One, two, three," she said quickly, "And – go."

The group moved towards Reid. Two of them grabbed hold of his arms and two of them his legs. As they tipped him towards the floor, Dr. Burridge took hold of his head. All the while he struggled and screamed, thrashing his limbs against the tight hold. They held him face down on the floor as he twisted and fought hopelessly against the restraint.

Gideon stood rooted to the spot, watching helplessly as another nurse pushed a gurney into the room.

The group holding Reid flipped him over onto his back on the gurney. He was still screaming and writhing, a look of panic and terror on his face. The staff worked quickly, securing straps around the young man's chest and thighs. One hand was pulled above his head and strapped down, whilst the other was strapped by his side. His ankles were then swiftly immobilised. He tried to struggle and pulled at the straps but was completely unable to move. Tears started to trickle down his face.

"Now then, Spencer," said Dr. Burridge firmly, "We can help you, but you have to behave yourself." She turned to Gideon. "Can I speak with you?"

Gideon nodded dumbly, still in shock. Dr. Burridge gestured towards the door and he followed her out of the room to where Morgan and Elle were staring in disbelief at Reid.

"Was that," asked Morgan icily, "Completely necessary?"

Dr. Burridge sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Spencer is very agitated. We have to use restraints when a patient is going to hurt themselves or somebody else. Believe me, I would rather avoid them if I can. Remember that PCP was developed as an anaesthetic – if he can't feel pain he could be very dangerous."

"Can't you just sedate him?" asked Elle.

"I need to know exactly what is in his system before I give him any more drugs," replied Dr. Burridge wearily. "Otherwise, the sedative I give him could send him into respiratory arrest. I am going to need to catheterise him and take a urine sample."

"Oh - you _are _joking," said Morgan, his eyes full of fury.

"If it is PCP, it will show up much better in urine than blood. I'm sorry, but I have to make an accurate diagnosis. And if there was another way, I would take it. But he's in no position to give a normal sample, is he?"

Morgan paced back and forth, full of anger at the way Reid was being treated.

"Can't you see he's terrified? All you're doing is just scaring him even more! Do you know how we found him? What has already happened to him?"

Dr, Burridge bristled. "I don't tell you how to do your job," she snapped, "So don't tell me how to do mine. I've been dealing with junkie freak outs for some time now, so I think I can handle this. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a sample to take." She turned and walked away.

"Junkie?" spat Morgan in disbelief. "Reid is not . . ."

Elle stopped him. "Calm down, Derek," she warned, "Picking a fight with the doctors is not going to help him."

------------------------------------------------------

Hotch yawned and sighed as he pushed open Gideon's office door. He flicked on the light and headed for the desk. In the bottom drawer, buried under a couple of pairs of socks, was the whisky the older man kept in there. Hotch unscrewed the cap and took a large swig. The alcohol burnt his throat but the warmth it gave him was what he needed. He was tempted to down the whole bottle, but settled for another large mouthful. It would be enough to help him sleep.

He replaced the bottle and headed for the room he had been staying in. His body felt so heavy. He was bone tired. He would sleep for a few hours and then he would start looking for Louise Carter. He would find her and then he would take care of this.

---------------------------------------------

Reid couldn't move. They were touching him, poking and prodding, sticking needles in his arms. He knew what they were doing.

They were poisoning him. And Gideon had let them do it. Reid had tried telling them to stop but no-one was listening to him. No matter how hard he had tried to get the bad stuff out, they were putting more in.

He bit hard on his lip. He needed to find his mom. She would come and tell them to stop. They would listen to her – she was a professor, she was important. He tried to call for her, but there was too much other noise. She couldn't hear him.

The floor was starting to fill up with blood. It was rising up. The blood was running down the walls and seeping under the doors. He started to struggle again as the liquid rose higher. He could feel it running over his feet, making his hands wet and sticky.

He started to shout. It was getting deeper. He could feel the damp sensation on his face, trickling down his forehead. Soon it would fill his mouth and nose and he would drown. He screamed for help. He couldn't move. His breath started coming faster and faster, his chest heaving with panic.

No-one was coming. No-one was listening. His throat was hoarse with screaming. He gibbered and babbled, twisting in vain against the restraints. Then someone yanked down his sweatpants and stuck a needle in his thigh.

He yelped and then stopped struggling. Heaviness spread through his body and he closed his eyes.

----------------------------------------------

Morgan shifted in his seat, rousing Elle who was dozing on his shoulder. Gideon sat a few seats away, head in his hands, lost in his thoughts. They had been waiting for a long time. The staff wouldn't let any of them in to see Reid and nobody was telling them anything.

Dr. Burridge approached. She cleared her throat and stood over Morgan, her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her white coat. "Spencer tested positive for PCP and LSD. There was a fairly high concentration of PCP, so he could have had more than one dose."

"What's he doing now?" asked Morgan. "Can we see him?"

"He became very agitated again, so I have given him a sedative. He has some physical injuries so we have at least been able to treat those. He is very dehydrated and has a number of cuts and bruises. I'm also giving him antibiotics as the cut on his hand is infected. I've put up an IV and we are monitoring him."

"So what happens now?" asked Elle.

"I'm waiting for the psychiatrist to come down. He needs to be admitted," replied Dr. Burridge.

Gideon looked up. "Admitted?" he asked.

Dr. Burridge sighed. "Spencer is experiencing acute psychosis. The best place for him is the emergency psychiatric ward. PCP induced psychosis needs a close eye and he can't stay in the ER. They may remove the restraints when he goes upstairs."

"Excuse me," said Morgan sharply, "You said _may_ remove? Why the hell is he _still _tied up?"

Dr. Burridge glared at him. "This year alone, we have had three members of staff seriously injured by PCP users. The drug makes them very strong and they lash out. Whilst Spencer is still in the ER, he _will_ be restrained."

Elle tried to reason with the doctor. "Spencer has been kidnapped, tortured and goodness knows what else. He's been chained up. Can't you just undo them while he's sedated? We'll sit with him."

The doctor shook her head. "I'm sorry. He is too much of a danger to himself and the staff in here. The restraints will stay."

Morgan scowled at her as she walked away. "How can they call him a danger to anybody?" he fumed. "He's Reid."

----------------------------------------------

Eventually, the psychiatrist came and did his evaluation. After, he came to where Morgan, Gideon and Elle were waiting.

"I'm Doctor Mark Jameson," said the psychiatrist with a broad smile. He held his hand out. Elle and Gideon took it and shook hands. Morgan nodded at him, arms folded across his chest.

"I will admit Spencer to the acute psychiatric ward here," said Dr. Jameson. "He needs treatment for physical injuries as well. We can keep him here for up to 72 hours. If he still poses a danger to himself or others, then I will recommend a transfer to an inpatient facility."

"You mean you're keeping him on a psych hold?" challenged Morgan.

Dr. Jameson nodded. "Spencer is undergoing a psychotic episode. He is experiencing hallucinations and delusions, as a result of ingesting PCP. That has triggered psychosis."

Morgan couldn't understand. "Reid is a very clever guy. Doesn't he know what's going on?"

Gideon shook his head. "Psychosis is when somebody is trapped within their own fears. He believes it is all real – he will have no doubt that the voices he is hearing or the visions he is seeing are real. And that's why he is so terrified."

Dr. Jameson nodded. "Patients with psychosis usually go one of two ways. They either get delusions of grandeur or they become acutely paranoid. Spencer is experiencing real paranoia and that, coupled with the way PCP makes users feel out of their body, is making him very agitated and distressed."

Elle was still trying to take all this in. "So what will you do for him here?"

"We will give him antipsychotic medication and if the psychosis hasn't settled down in a couple of days, then he will need inpatient treatment. Antipsychotics can be matter of trial and error to get the right drug and the right dosage."

"But then he'll be OK, right?" asked Morgan. "I mean, you'll find the right pills and he'll settle down?"

Dr. Jameson shrugged. "Let's just see how he goes on for the next couple of days."

"Can we see him?" asked Gideon.

"As long as you being there doesn't make him more distressed. I'll warn you, he is sedated, but the psychosis is still there," said Dr. Jameson. "You have a few minutes before we take him up."

The three of them headed to the exam room. "Let's not crowd him," said Morgan. "I'll wait here."

Elle looked surprised but agreed with him. Gently, she turned the door handle and entered the room. She nodded at the nurse sat next to the gurney making notes.

Reid was lying with his head turned away from her, his hair spread across his face. Elle tried to ignore the restraints but the sight of his bruised bare arm pinned above his head made her catch her breath. She bent and kissed him gently on his cheek, then as he turned towards her, said, "I'll see you soon, sweetie."

After Elle had left the room, Gideon approached Reid. He was tentative, acutely aware of how the young man had reacted to him previously. Gideon saw how Reid's hair was all in his eyes and his heart ached. It must be so uncomfortable and yet Reid couldn't even move it. Gideon reached out and gently smoothed the locks away, stroking the his protégée's hair as he tried to soothe him.

At the touch, Reid lifted his eyes to Gideon's and seemed to struggle to focus. He swallowed hard and whispered, his voice thick with drowsiness, "I know what you did. You hurt me."

Then he started to pull sluggishly against the restraints. Gideon took a deep breath and stepped backwards. The nurse got up and gestured for him to leave the room.

Gideon stumbled out of the room and sat down heavily on a nearby chair. He was shocked and hurt by the response. What did Reid think he had done? And how was he going to fix it?

TBC

**Please read and review. I am a bit nervous about this one.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **A couple of reviewers commented on the issue of Reid's next of kin, so I have amended this chapter to tackle that omission. Let me know what you think.

**Chapter Ten**

It was after ten o'clock when Hotch finally woke up. The lack of sleep and horrendous pressure of the past few days had left him truly exhausted and in desperate need of rest. He showered and dressed quickly, constantly humming, anything to avoid thinking about the sight of Reid crying in the truck.

He headed for his office, a look of grim determination on his face. He was going to find Louise Carter. Hotch saw Gideon's office door slightly ajar and called in there first.

"How's Reid?" Hotch asked.

Gideon sighed and rubbed his chin. "Not good," he replied. "He's had some kind of psychotic break." He looked up at Hotch with pain in his eyes. "Hotch – he was scared of me. I tried to reach out to him and he was terrified."

Hotch's lips thinned. "Is he staying in the hospital?"

Gideon nodded. "I just called. They have admitted him to a locked psychiatric ward and they won't let anyone visit right now. They say it's because he's heavily sedated."

"You sound like you don't believe them?"

"Spencer was in restraints in the ER – I wouldn't be surprised if he is still in them on the psych ward. That hospital doesn't have a great record. _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ isn't so far off the mark." Gideon put his head in his hands. "I don't know how to help him."

"Have you spoken with the doctor?" asked Hotch.

"They won't discuss his treatment with me," answered Gideon. "They're insisting on a next of kin – and as far as the paperwork is concerned, he doesn't have one. I even checked his personnel file here – it lists his aunt overseas."

Hotch groaned and rubbed his forehead. "I spoke to him about it at his evaluation. The day he . . ." he paused and closed his eyes, "The day he disappeared." Hotch opened his eyes and sighed heavily. "The aunt is a very distant relative – and the contact details he had for her are out of date. I brought up that he needed someone nearby and suggested he choose either you or me."

"And what did he say?" asked Gideon.

"You know Reid – he's so cagey about his private life," replied Hotch. "He found it hard to admit that he was going to have to ask a work colleague to fulfil that role. I think he was embarrassed. Anyway, he was going to ask you to be named as his next of kin."

Gideon shook his head. "I was on a conference call that afternoon – I didn't get a chance to talk to him."

"I know," nodded Hotch. "Reid didn't want to put you on the form until he had asked you himself. He left it on his desk."

"Is it still there?" asked Gideon. "I can sign it now."

Hotch sighed again. "Reid hasn't signed it yet," he said sadly, "I sent him home with Haley before he got a chance to sort it out."

Gideon was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. "I need to do something, Hotch," he said.

Hotch didn't know what to say. He patted Gideon's shoulder. "He'll be OK," he said, hoping a bland platitude would help.

Gideon looked up at Hotch. "He already had a ten percent chance of developing schizophrenia. Coupled with a drug induced psychosis and a stressful life event – this could be the beginning of a lifetime of problems for him." He shook his head. "We might not ever get him back."

--------------------------------------------

Reid woke up, lying in a strange bed. He rubbed his eyes. He didn't know where he was. His fingers on one hand were taped together and there were bandages round his wrists.

He turned his head and saw the thin tube going into his arm. There was a bag of liquid attached to it. It must be the poison.

He had to stop it going in. Reid worked his thumb underneath the tape holding the line in place and ripped it off. He hooked his thumb around the tube and pulled it out of his arm, flinging it away. It was out. Now he needed to work on the rest of the poison.

He sat up in the bed and started to try and undo the bandage around his wrist. The knot was tight, so he worked on it with his teeth. He frowned as he concentrated on getting the bandage off. He could see the poison pulsing under his skin, making his blood bad.

Eventually, Reid undid the bandage. It hurt when he started scraping at the wound with his thumb but he needed to get the bad stuff out of him. Maybe a knife would be better. He could go home and get one. He would feel safer at home and his mom would know where to find him.

Reid slid off the bed and made his way to the door. His legs were wobbly and he felt very weak. He could see other people in beds around him but he couldn't worry about them. He crept towards the door.

It wouldn't open. He grabbed the handle and shook it. It was locked. He felt the panic rising up in his throat. He shook the handle harder. There was shouting and people were coming. They were going to hurt him and he had to get out. He banged his fist on the door. "Let me out," he cried.

They were coming closer, he could hear their footsteps. Reid turned round and shrank back against the door. He thought he could see his mom at the back of the room – but there were too many people in the way.

Someone spoke to him. They told him to go back to bed and he would feel better. He knew it was a trick to get the poison back in. He refused. The people were all looking at him. They knew what he was thinking. They knew he had told his mom to come and get him. He shouted at them to go away.

Someone took hold of his arm. Reid tried to wrench it away. He pushed the man to get him off and then suddenly lots more people grabbed him. He was thrown to the floor and struggled violently, kicking and screaming with panic. They were going to hold him down and poison him again. Why was no-one trying to help him?

He couldn't breathe. He squirmed and gasped. The more he fought, the tighter they held him. They pulled his pants down and he felt a sharp pain. Then he couldn't move properly anymore. He was feeling sleepy. He was vaguely aware of being half carried, half dragged towards the bed. He closed his eyes and gave up.

---------------------------------------

Hotch left Gideon and went into his own office. He sat down at his desk and noticed the envelope he had been given the day before. He had forgotten all about it. He opened it and started to look through the contents.

Two hours later, he was still there.

The envelope was stuffed with a variety of documents. The whole story of Tony Child's imprisonment and subsequent suicide was there. Hotch read through trial transcripts, legal arguments, appeal papers, newspaper cuttings. He read parole board submissions, medical reports and autopsy findings.

Hotch raked his fingers through his hair as he read Jessica Child's letters. She had written to the prison, to the judge, to the prosecutor's office, to hospitals, to senators and to newspapers. She had tried anybody she could, begging them to help her brother. She claimed that her brother was being remorselessly bullied in prison and was desperately concerned about his mental health. She had written again and again to the prison, pleading with them to give him some help and support, but it had not prompted any action.

Jessica had finally received a reply to her letters; a response from the prison with an agreement to investigate her allegations. It had been received the day Tony hung himself.

Hotch sighed heavily. He remembered an angry woman shouting at him that he had condemned her brother to death and throwing water over him. He had dismissed it as histrionics. It wasn't the first time a relative had caused a fuss in the courtroom.

Now he knew something about her motives. She felt that her brother had been imprisoned unfairly and had tried in vain to save him. And he guessed that she held him ultimately responsible. Hotch leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Was he responsible? Would Tony Child have gone to jail if he had been prosecuted by someone else?

He needed to talk this through with Gideon. But the older profiler had demons of his own to contend with. He knew Gideon was a father figure to Reid and that their relationship was a close one. Reid's rejection of him was hitting hard.

-----------------------------------------

Morgan and Elle were talking. Morgan was avoiding the subject of Reid and what they had seen in the hospital. Instead he showed Elle the initial report from the CSI team.

"Both men bled to death," he told her. "Barrett had his throat cut and Barnes had gunshot wounds to his abdomen."

"Reid didn't do that," said Elle. "Anyway, the door was secured from the outside and there was no murder weapon in the truck."

"Reid was there when they were killed though," said Morgan grimly. "There is a gap in the arterial blood spray on the wall from Barrett and the marks on Reid's clothes match up. He must have been sat in front of Barrett and got caught in the blood shower."

Elle shook her head. "What about Barnes?"

"He had been shot three times in the stomach area. Would have taken him a good few minutes to bleed to death. His bloody fingerprints are on Reid's sweatpants, like he was holding on to him while he bled out."

"Poor kid," whispered Elle. "No wonder he was howling."

Morgan continued. "The hand prints and other marks around the truck suggest Reid crawled around the truck, probably trying to get out." He looked at his colleague. "Elle – he was in there for hours with them." Morgan slammed his hand onto the desk. "We have to find this woman."

Elle nodded. "We need to speak to Gideon and Hotch, see what else they have. Did you talk to Garcia?"

Morgan shook his head. "I don't know what to tell her," he said. "Reid's such a mess. To be honest, he freaked me out. I didn't know what to do."

Elle gave him a sad smile. "Are you scared of him?" she asked. "He's more scared than you could be."

"I know," replied Morgan, "But it's not my thing, you know? If I see a crazy person on the street – I'm walking the other way. I don't want to get involved. I'm not proud of it Elle, but I don't deal too well with mental problems."

"He's not mad – he's just lost," said Elle.

"Reid's my buddy," said Morgan, "but we don't do the touchy feely stuff. We joke around. Seeing him crying like that – it just made me so uncomfortable."

They were interrupted by Gideon. "I spoke to the hospital again," he said. "They still won't let Reid have any visitors. He is too distressed apparently."

"I'm not surprised," muttered Morgan. "The way they are treating him."

"Anyway, he is going to need some stuff from home. Can one of you come to Reid's apartment with me and pick him up some clothes?"

"I'll do it," said Elle.

Morgan glared at her. "Guess I'm with Hotch then."

-------------------------------

Carrying Reid's satchel, Gideon took out the young man's keys and unlocked his apartment door. He pushed it open and Elle followed him inside.

"It doesn't feel right being here without Reid," said Elle. "I feel like an intruder."

Gideon nodded. "But he does need this stuff. Can you find a bag somewhere?"

Elle headed into the bedroom. Gideon went to the kitchen. Methodically he took the clean dishes from the draining board and, opening cupboard doors, he put them away. Then he opened the refrigerator and started to clear all of the perishable food into a black plastic refuse sack. Reid wasn't coming home any time soon, he was sure of that.

Elle came back, carrying a small pile of t-shirts and jeans and sweatpants. "I think _you_ should get his underwear," she told Gideon. "He is going to feel uncomfortable enough about us going through his stuff. I wouldn't like any of you guys picking out _my_ lingerie!"

Gideon smiled at her. "OK," he said. "How about you get him some books and some music? There's plenty to choose from."

Gideon walked into the young man's bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was neat and tidy. There was very little in there, apart from the bed, a closet and a dresser. He opened the top dresser drawer and took out a handful of underwear and a few pairs of socks. He smiled at the framed photograph of a woman – Reid's mom he guessed. Then he sat down on the bed and felt the tears begin to well up. He couldn't bear the thought of the brilliant young man spending the rest of his life in and out of institutions. He was so protective of him – they all were – and yet some outsider had still come and broken him.

Silent tears rolled slowly down his face. Reid was the youngest one - his youngest one. He had done so much to encourage him, to develop him and now he could do nothing to help him. He felt he had somehow failed him.

After a short while, Gideon got up and went into the bathroom. He washed his face and went back through to where Elle was stacking up CDs. Her eyes were red. She gave him a tight smile.

There were no words spoken. Both of them felt each other's pain and together they grieved for all that had been taken from their friend.

--------------------------------------

Hotch nodded at Morgan and handed him the pile of documents. Morgan began flicking through them. Hotch picked up the covering letter that had been sent with them.

_Dear Agent Hotchner_

_The enclosed may give you some idea of why I had to do this._

_Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body. Sir Richard Steele_

_Jessica Child_

Hotch stared at the words. _Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body_. He glanced at the list of quotations from the emails Haley had been sent. Then he grabbed his cell and called Haley.

"Honey, this might sound strange, but what is your book group called?"

"Reading Workout," answered Haley. "Why?"

Hotch sighed. "What books have you read recently?" he asked.

Haley rattled off a list – Amy Tan, Jessamyn West, Oscar Wilde. "Is there someone in your group called Louise?" asked Hotch.

"Louise Carter?" replied Haley, "Yeah, she works in that little second hand bookstore with the café. That's where I got to know her."

Hotch turned to Morgan. "I know where she is. I'll explain in the car."

-----------------------------------

Hotch and Morgan strode into the bookstore. To Hotch's surprise, the woman behind the counter greeted him with a broad smile. "I've been expecting you," she said. "Shall we go now?"

She handed her purse to Morgan and waved to her colleagues. Then she held out her hands for Hotch to put the cuffs on.

Back at the Bureau, Hotch sat across from the woman in the interview room.

"Jessica or Louise?" he asked her coldly.

"Jessica please," she replied. "It is my real name and there is nobody to call me by it now."

"Did you kill Lewis Barnes and Jack Barrett?" asked Hotch.

"Yes and no," said Jessica. "Lewis was all too keen to kill Jack for a price. Then I shot Lewis. I wouldn't waste any time on them. They weren't nice guys."

"So it was OK for you to murder them?" inquired Hotch.

"Two more scumbags are dead," replied Jessica. "They deserved it after what they did to my brother. And you deserved what I had planned for you."

Hotch didn't rise to it. "What about Doctor Reid? Did _he _deserve what you did to him?"

Jessica shrugged. "He's young. He'll bounce back."

Hotch's tone was icy. "He has been committed to a psychiatric ward. He's not bouncing back any time soon."

Jessica paused, looking surprised. Then she recovered her composure. "At least he will get the care he needs," she snapped. "That's more than Tony got."

"What did you get out of torturing Dr. Reid? He had nothing to do with you or your brother. Why the drugs?"

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "Why do you think? My brother lost his mind in jail – I wanted you to feel the same way. To have all your dignity taken away from you and then to be faced with all your worst fears." She leaned forward. "Tell me, Hotch, would you have broken so easily?"

"But I wasn't there," Hotch reminded her.

"Yes, I know. You had an opportunity to do the right thing but you didn't take it. And Haley was always talking about how brave you are," smirked Jessica.

Hotch bristled at the mention of his wife, but managed to keep his composure. He placed both hands on the table. "And if I had given myself up? Would you have let him go?"

Jessica smiled again. "Oh, I bet you've tortured yourself with that one, haven't you? _Could_ you have saved him? _Should_ you have saved him? I can see you haven't been sleeping too well."

"Would you have let Reid go," he repeated the question, more forcefully this time. Hotch knew she was getting to him, but he needed the answer.

"Maybe," she shrugged, "Or maybe I would have let Barnes do what he wanted to with him. Do what he did to my brother. And let you watch."

"Watch what?" asked Hotch, breathing deeply in an effort to control himself.

"Oh don't tell me you don't know what happens to pretty boys in prison, Agent Hotchner!" laughed Jessica. "Those guys had plenty of ideas about what to do with him. He's lucky I said no to most of them!"

"I'm sure Reid appreciates that," snapped Hotch venomously.

"Oh dear," said Jessica, "You really are taking this very badly, aren't you? How much did it hurt to see him going through that and to know that you were powerless to stop it?" She leaned forwards. "Tears you apart doesn't it? Now at least you have some idea of how I feel."

"And how is your brother's death my fault?" asked Hotch.

Jessica's eyes were full of fury. "I watched you in that court room, striding around like you owned the place. Talking about my brother as though he was some kind of monster – giving the jury no option but to convict him. You made him sound like he was evil."

Hotch glowered at her. "Your brother beat a security guard half to death. What should have happened to him?"

"Tony wasn't a bad person," Jessica told him. "He made some bad choices. He wasn't the ringleader – he was trying to keep up with the others. He thought they were his friends. He did what he was told to do."

"Tony needed to take responsibility for what he did," answered Hotch. "It is the job of the law to punish those who break it."

"Yes," snarled Jessica, "But Tony got the death penalty. Barnes and Barrett and all their cronies made his life hell inside that jail. And nobody listened to me when I tried to help him. Not even you."

Hotch sighed. "It is not the job of the prosecutor's office to take care of prisoners. If the prison service failed your brother, you need to complain to them." He paused. "Homicide and kidnapping are going to get you some serious jail time."

Jessica shrugged. "Barnes and Barrett are no loss to society. They were happy to kidnap and torture an FBI Agent for a relatively small sum of money. And Barnes agreed to kill his partner for 5 thousand dollars. They didn't even know who I was and they certainly didn't remember Tony. I did law enforcement a favour."

"I don't think a jury will see it like that," replied Hotch.

Jessica shrugged her shoulders again. "I doubt I will even see the inside of a courtroom," she said softly.

"Why is that?" asked Hotch, annoyed at her arrogance.

She smiled at him, then reached up and pulled off a long auburn wig, revealing a bald head underneath.

Smirking at Hotch's surprise, Jessica ran her hand over her exposed scalp. "Chemotherapy," she told him. "It didn't work."

"You have cancer?" said Hotch quietly.

"Ovarian cancer," she replied. "Stage four. There isn't a stage five. It has spread to my liver. My life expectancy is now measured in months, not years."

Hotch was at a loss for words. "I'm sorry," he said, almost automatically. Why he said that, he didn't know. It must just have been good manners. This woman had put Reid in a mental hospital. He wasn't sorry she was dying.

Jessica smiled sadly at him. "We must be an unlucky family," she replied. "Still – at least there has been retribution for my brother. And if it makes you feel better, you can see this disease as my just reward."

-------------------------------------------

Two days later, Gideon called the hospital for his update on Reid's condition. He was told that a court order had been granted, detaining the young man for 180 days and that he had been transferred to a nearby psychiatric hospital.

For a couple of days, he hesitated. He was afraid of making things worse. He longed to talk it over with Hotch, but he was spending much needed time with his family now Jessica Child had been arrested. Gideon spent a lot of time thinking, agonising over the best course of action.

Eventually he drove the twenty miles to the hospital. Clutching Reid's satchel, which contained his notebooks and some candy, he pushed open the doors.

Gideon stood nervously at the reception desk. The psych ward at the local hospital had refused Reid any visitors who weren't his immediate family. Therefore no-one had been to see him.

The receptionist smiled at him. "I'm here to see Spencer Reid," he told her.

She checked her computer files. "Are you a relative?" she asked him.

Gideon took a deep breath. He had to see Reid. And in a sense, it was almost true.

"Yes," he replied, "I'm his father."

TBC

hopefully the next chapter won't be too far away


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: **Again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story or sent me a PM. I appreciate all the feedback and apologise for the length of time it has taken for me to update. As ever – please review.

**Warning: **Spoilers for L.D.S.K. (not big ones though!)

**Chapter 11**

"I'm his father."

Gideon could still feel the words rolling around in his mouth. He tried to smile at the receptionist as she looked for the information for him. It was only a very small lie.

A very necessary lie.

But a lie none the less.

After a few moments, she told him to take a seat. "Someone will be with you shortly," she smiled.

Gideon sat down. He clutched the satchel to his chest, caressing the worn leather. He wanted so badly to offer the young man some comfort, to ease the suffering he was undergoing. Yet he couldn't erase the memories of the last time he had seen Reid; the terror and confusion in his eyes, his struggle against the restraints. And all the while, Gideon had been powerless to help him. Would Reid ever forgive him?

He jumped at a hand touching his shoulder. "Can you come with me please, Mr Reid?" asked a young nurse.

Gideon got up. "Er, my name is Jason Gideon," he replied. "Spencer has his mother's name."

"Sorry Mr Gideon," she said, and then she led him deep into the building. Eventually, she stopped and gestured towards a closed door. "This is one of our quiet rooms," she said. "Spencer is in here. I'm going to sit with him so Pete can come and talk to you."

Suddenly Gideon felt nervous. "How is he?" he asked.

The nurse smiled at him. "Pete can fill you in," she replied. She knocked lightly on the door and then turned the handle. She went in and closed it behind her.

Gideon tightened his grip on the satchel. The corridor was empty. The sounds of a busy hospital were very far away. He strained to listen for any noise from the room in front of him; there was nothing. The smell of hospitals – disinfectant and boiled vegetables - filled his nostrils as he breathed. He wasn't going to give up on Reid but he was nervous about the response he might get. What if the young man was still scared of him?

After a few moments, the door opened and a large man with closely cropped blonde hair came out. He smiled warmly at Gideon and held out his hand.

"Hi there, I'm Pete. I'm a psychiatric nurse," he said, speaking with a soft Scottish accent. "So you're Spencer's dad?"

The man's eyebrows rose slightly, but Gideon ignored the quizzical look. "Jason Gideon," he said, shaking Pete's hand. "Spencer took his mother's name," he added.

Pete led him to a nearby row of seats. They sat down. "Spencer was very heavily sedated when he came in," said Pete. "To be honest, he didn't know where he was or who he was for the first couple of days. It's often the case when patients have been on an emergency psychiatric ward – they come to us medicated up to the eyeballs. It keeps them quiet."

Gideon was slightly taken aback by the young man's candour. However, he remained outwardly calm. "And now?" he asked.

"We've had some rough times," said Pete with a gentle smile. "When patients first arrive, we give them one to one attention. We have a team taking turns to stay with them and we don't leave them on their own at all. I'm Spencer's key worker - so whenever I'm on duty at the moment, I'm with him."

"What do you mean by _rough times_?" asked Gideon.

"Spencer didn't get on too well at the previous hospital," replied Pete. "The word they used was _unco-operative_." He snorted and rolled his eyes.

Gideon nodded. That sounded about right.

"But we work very differently here," continued Pete. "Spencer will be medicated, but not sedated unless he really needs it. We don't use restraint unless we absolutely have to. Here, the emphasis is on talking therapies as well as using drugs."

"But how is he?" asked Gideon.

"With anti psychotic medications, sometimes things get worse before they get better," replied Pete. "He's been prescribed Risperdal – quite a high dosage at the moment. Unfortunately, the side effects can be pretty unpleasant to start with. Spencer is dealing with tremors and akasthisia – that's extreme restlessness. Not to mention the nausea, muscle pain and excess salivation. He's having a pretty difficult time."

Gideon looked up at Pete. "I have a psychology background. I've studied psychosis, but I don't have any clinical experience of it."

Pete smiled at him. "I recently read an article describing psychosis as experiencing a dreamlike state whilst being awake. Unfortunately, Spencer's dream is more of a nightmare at the moment." He gave an ironic laugh. "Its funny, isn't it? We have someone who is psychotic – completely paranoid and convinced everyone is out to harm him – and what do we do with him? Lock him up, restrain him and basically reinforce every fear he has!"

"Is he getting _any_ better?" asked Gideon hopefully. "He was absolutely terrified – of everyone."

Pete grinned. "Ah, yes – I gather there was a fairly messy freak out in the ER! Poor guy wound up in restraints?"

Gideon nodded slowly. He wasn't too sure what to make of this cheerful Scotsman.

Pete continued. "Don't worry – I've seen it all before! Full on psychosis is scary stuff for all concerned and we're not out of the woods yet. But I think we've made a wee bit of progress – he's certainly calmer. The main problem is that I can't get him to eat anything."

Gideon looked puzzled. "He won't eat? I thought those meds normally increased appetite?"

"They do," replied Pete, "But Spencer is convinced he's being poisoned. We're dissolving his meds in water as he will drink, but he just won't touch any food." Pete sighed. "And unless he does eat something soon, the docs are going to be looking at sedating and tube feeding him."

Gideon's face fell. "Does he know this?"

Pete shook his head. "I don't want to try to panic him any more than he already is. I'm trying to persuade him to eat anything – the hunger must be driving him mad."

"Can I try?" asked Gideon, "Will he see me?"

Pete thought for a moment then shrugged. "Lets give it a go," he said, "Be warned though – he's calmer, but he's still going through a pretty bad time. His speech is a lot clearer, but his thoughts are still jumping around."

He moved towards the door. "Ready?" he asked.

Gideon nodded. He was ready.

-------------------------------------------

Hotch pulled up at the entrance to the farm. Despite the cold, he lowered his window and breathed in the chilly winter air. It was good to get out.

He had spent a couple of days at home with Haley and Jack, trying to relax and be a family again. Haley knew that Reid was in the hospital but Hotch had pretended not to know anything else about his condition. He played with his son and spent time with his wife, but it felt as if he was going through the motions.

Looking around his house he felt so angry. He had been trapped at Quantico for so long, unable to get out and look for Reid – he thought he would be relieved to be somewhere else. But he knew that Jessica Child had been in his home, sitting on his couch, making friends with his wife. All the time, planning a terrible act of retribution – one that Reid had taken the full force of.

The frustration of being unable to do anything constructive whilst Reid had been missing was still running through him. Despite breaking down once, he still felt as though he was only just containing his emotions. He couldn't talk to Haley; he couldn't talk to anyone about how he felt.

Usually, he felt some kind of closure when they found the unsub. The pain and suffering caused to the victims still haunted him, but at least the team had done something to bring it to an end. In Reid's case, they had done nothing. Jessica had practically given them her address and Hotch was sure that if the letter hadn't given him enough clues, she would have walked into the Bureau to give herself up. His failure to get one step ahead of her still rankled. He couldn't even have the satisfaction of bringing justice to the bad guys.

Hotch got out of the car and headed for the desolate farmhouse. Jessica had given her lawyer the address and the CSI team had headed out to gather any evidence. He needed to see for himself where Reid had been held.

One of the CSIs led him down the stone steps and into the underground room. Hotch nearly gagged at the stench of mildew and urine. Dried pools of vomit scattered the floor. The filthy blanket was being bagged as evidence.

Hotch put on his gloves and picked up the shackles lying on the floor. He ran his fingers along the cold chain and felt a lump rise in his throat. He blinked a few times and stood up. "Is there anything else here?" he asked abruptly.

"Upstairs," said the CSI.

In the kitchen there were supplies of PCP and LSD and a variety of preparation paraphernalia. Lying on the table, neatly folded in evidence bags, were the clothes Reid had been wearing when he was kidnapped. Hotch picked up the bag with his woolly hat inside. If Reid hadn't put this on, if he hadn't been wearing Hotch's jacket, if he hadn't been driving Hotch's car – he wouldn't be in a psychiatric hospital now. Just something as simple as a favour for his boss had put him through hell. Hotch closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He thought about that morning.

_He had been to see Jessica again and she had told him about Reid's captivity. Leaning back in her chair, a scarf covering her head, she had spoken softly._

"_The guys gave him a few hours for the full effects to kick in, and then they went down at regular intervals."_

"_What did they do?" asked Hotch, his fists clenched under the table._

_Jessica shrugged. "I told them to scare him – make sure he had a bad trip. So they had a little fun."_

"_Fun?" asked Hotch, struggling to keep the fury out of his voice. "What did this fun involve, exactly?"_

"_I only know what they told me," replied Jessica, "They beat him a few times, held his head under water till he nearly passed out, and used a lot of loud noise. It worked pretty well."_

"_So it would seem," said Hotch._

_Jessica smirked at him. "You know – he got so scared he actually wet himself? Can you believe that? I think that was after they held him down and screamed at him. It really didn't take much. And don't forget – I can only tell you about the stuff I know about." Jessica winked at Hotch._

Somehow, he had controlled himself during the conversation, but after leaving her, Hotch found himself throwing up in the men's room. He truly did not know what turned his stomach more – the fact that this horror had been meant for him, or the fact that Reid had endured it. And nobody but Reid knew exactly _what_ he had endured.

As Hotch headed back to the car, he fingered the cell phone in his pocket, willing it to ring. He could do nothing more with this investigation. He needed a new case. He needed to win this time.

-------------------------------------------

Gideon followed Pete into the room. The lighting was low and there was very little furniture – a mattress on the floor and a couple of chairs that were bolted to the ground. There were cushions and beanbags heaped in one corner. He was struck by the isolation of it. No sound from outside penetrated the walls and it seemed very far away from the rest of the hospital.

Pete and the other nurse spoke quietly and then she left the room. Pete gestured to one of the chairs and Gideon sat down. Then he turned to look at the other occupant.

Reid was dressed in some sweatpants and a t-shirt from his apartment. He was pacing back and forth, his bare arms wrapped around his thin frame, hugging himself. His hair fell over his face and he was talking, softly and rapidly. He took no notice of Gideon or Pete.

Pete picked up a file and made some brief notes. Then he looked up and spoke to Reid. His voice was gentle and kind. "Spencer," he said, "I'm back now."

Reid paused, and then continued walking back and forth. His speed began to increase and he started to run his fingers repeated through his hair. Gideon caught a glimpse of his face – bruised, pale and in need of a shave.

Pete got up and walked over to Reid. "Spencer," he said, "There's someone here to see you."

Reid stopped pacing and his head snapped up. He looked at Gideon and his eyes widened. Gideon froze, waiting for him to start screaming again.

Instead there was silence. Reid stared at Gideon, shifting from one foot to another. Gideon tried to express all the warmth he felt for the young man with a gentle smile.

Then Reid spoke to him. "When's my mom coming?" he said, his voice sounding hoarse. He brushed his hand across his mouth.

Gideon didn't move. "She can't come right now," he replied. "But she loves you."

Reid turned away. "She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah," he said softly. Then, he walked over to the far corner of the room and leaned back against the wall. Slowly he slid down the wall until he was sitting. He hugged his knees to his chest and his feet tapped alternately on the floor, as though pedalling.

Pete leaned towards Gideon. "Not a bad start," he said, quietly. "Why not try talking to him? Keep your distance and don't make eye contact just now."

Gideon nodded. His instinct told him to gather the frail young man in his arms and just hold him tight, but he knew he had to take it slowly. He got up gradually and crept over to where Reid was huddled. He sat down on a pile of cushions, distant enough not to frighten him but near enough to talk to him. And then he waited.

Reid was watching the wall opposite. Suddenly, his face crumpled and he started to breathe more rapidly. He bent his head down onto his knees and threaded his fingers into his hair. They twisted into his scalp as he rocked and tapped and began to whimper.

Pete looked over with concern. "Spencer?" he asked. "You OK, pal?"

Reid didn't answer him. Instead his whimpers grew louder and more anxious. He shuffled back against the wall and began to tread more frantically against the floor. His shoulders were twitching and when he lifted his hands, Gideon saw that they were shaking.

"Spencer?" he asked tentatively.

"So much blood," whispered Reid, "So much blood. Its coming – I can smell it."

"Where is it?" asked Gideon.

Reid frowned at him, and then pointed at the far wall, his arm shaking. "There – its there. It's everywhere."

He hugged his knees tighter and alternated between looking at the wall and dropping his head down onto his chest. Every time he looked up, he flinched. The whimpers grew into moans. Reid's breathing was coming faster and soon he was gasping.

"What can you see?" asked Gideon.

Reid switched his gaze to the floor. "Blood," he choked. "_It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood_."

Gideon frowned. He knew those words – was Reid quoting something? Maybe that was a way to connect to him.

Pete moved closer to Gideon. "Spencer – where is the blood, mate?" he asked gently. "It's OK, I'm here."

"Everywhere," moaned Reid, his voice getting louder. "The blood's everywhere. I can't get away from it."

Reid was really panicking now. He clawed at his hair and drummed his feet. Then he looked at Gideon. "No-one helped me," he whined.

Gideon suddenly remembered where the words had come from. He responded with another quotation from the same Shakespeare play. "_Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?_" he asked gently.

He saw something flicker across the young man's face. His movements became less frantic. Then the look of panic returned. "So much blood," gulped Reid.

"Spencer," said Pete, "Do you think you might be remembering this? Do you think the blood might not be here now?"

Reid frowned and bit his lip. Then he shook his head. "All over," he said, "It's all over my hands."

Gideon tried again. "_Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand._" He smiled paternally at Reid. "Let me see your hands, son." Reid hesitated, swallowing hard, and then held them out. They shook so hard they were almost blurred.

Gideon spoke softly. "There's no blood on them, Spencer."

Pete squatted down. "Remember Spencer, we talked about this? What you can do?"

Reid nodded. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"OK then," continued Pete softly, "Just turn away. Don't look over there and it will go away."

Reid turned his body towards Gideon. "_A countenance more in sorrow than in anger_," he whispered. "You're disappointed in me."

Gideon though for a moment – the quote was from a different play. Maybe it was _Hamlet_ – the story of another troubled young man. He shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm not disappointed. I just want to help."

Reid looked miserable. "You keep saying I'm a failure, I'm useless." He stamped his feet harder on the floor. "Everyone knows."

"I have never called you useless," said Gideon, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Reid's voice grew higher. "You did." He was starting to become more agitated. He wiped his hand across his mouth again.

Gideon spoke more firmly. "Spencer," he said, "That wasn't me. I don't think that of you." He paused for a moment, wondering whether to remind the young man of what had happened in Illinois. Then he spoke. "Do you remember what I said to you on the way back from Des Plaines? I told you to remember three things?"

Reid frowned at him.

"The third thing I told you to remember was that I was proud of you," continued Gideon. "I still am. I'm proud of you."

Reid was silent. He looked at the floor, tapping his feet and wiping his mouth. Gideon waited, hoping some of what he said had got through to him. He cared so much for this young man and he wanted so badly to help him. He felt Pete place a hand on his shoulder. He turned towards him.

"Spencer needs to take his meds in a minute," Pete said.

Gideon nodded, then reached into the satchel and pulled out a Hershey bar. "Can he have this?" he whispered. "He likes sweet stuff."

Pete nodded. Gideon turned back to Reid. "Spencer," he said gently, "I brought this for you."

Reid looked up and his face fell. "I can't eat it," he muttered. "They're trying to poison me, I know."

Gideon held out the candy bar. "There's no poison," he said. "I know it's hard for you to trust anybody right now, but believe me, no-one is going to give you poison anymore. There is no-one trying to hurt you now. Anyway – this still has the wrapper on – no-one could have put anything in it."

Reid's eyes filled with tears. "I'm hungry," he whispered.

Gideon smiled at him. "Me too," he replied. "Want to share?" He handed the candy bar to the young man.

Reid examined it. He started to try to open the wrapper, but his hands were shaking so much that he dropped it. Gideon scooted closer.

"I'll help you," he said, picking up the candy. He opened the bar and snapped it in half. He handed a piece to Reid. "Its just candy," he said, "Watch me – I'll eat it too." Gideon took a bite. "Tastes good."

Reid brought the candy to his mouth with trembling hands. Tears rolled down his face as he started to eat it. He gulped down the candy with sniffs and sobs. Gideon took his hand and squeezed reassuringly.

"I'm proud of you, son," he said.

TBC

**Author's Note: **In case anyone is interested, the three quotations about blood are from _Macbeth_, and the last one is from_ Hamlet_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Thank you to all who have reviewed. And a special thank you to greenwich who helped me finish this.

**Chapter Twelve**

Three weeks after Reid had first been admitted, Gideon came for a regular visit. He hadn't been for a few days and was keen to see how the young man was getting on. He had called everyday for an update when the team were away and Pete had filled him in whenever he was there, but he wanted to see Reid for himself.

Gideon pulled off his scarf and gloves as Pete led him into the dayroom. He had realised that Pete knew he wasn't actually Reid's father and he reckoned Pete knew that he knew. But neither of them mentioned it.

Pete pointed to a chair by the window and Gideon strolled over. Reid was sat cross legged in the chair, looking intently through the glass. His long fingers drummed quietly on the arms of the chair. His face, so gaunt when they had found him, looked rounder, softer.

Gideon cleared his throat. Reid looked up and gave him a faint smile. It was the first time Gideon had seen him smile since the day he disappeared.

"Hey," said Reid in a soft voice.

Gideon sat down next to him. "Hey yourself," he replied. "How are you doing?"

"Better," said the young man, and then he returned to looking through the window.

Gideon didn't push him. He was happy to sit in silence for as long as it took. Around him, patients were chatting, playing games and watching TV. Reid was sitting away from the others, with his back to the rest of the room.

Eventually Reid turned back to Gideon. "I guess this is it," he said quietly. "I always knew this was coming, I just didn't expect it to happen so quickly."

"What do you mean," asked Gideon, keeping his voice steady.

"I'm taking Risperadol," replied Reid patiently. "Six milligrams a day. It's America's first choice antipsychotic and I'm on a pretty high dose."

"And?" responded Gideon.

The young man's eyebrows rose. "Do you think there's anything I _don't_ know about antipsychotic medication?"

"Have some of the side effects settled down yet?" asked Gideon, trying to steer him away from where he thought Reid was going.

Reid gave a slight nod. "I've stopped drooling," he said, "And the tremors are better. And I guess I can stand to gain a little weight."

He looked at Gideon, making real eye contact for the first time. Gideon tried to look reassuring.

There was a pause and then Reid spoke. "You don't get prescribed these meds without being seriously crazy," he said, his voice trembling. "The thing is – how nuts am I?"

Gideon smiled at him. "Who says you're nuts?" he said lightly.

"Gideon, I'm locked in a psychiatric hospital." Reid looked down at his hands. "I can't go home. That's what happens when you're crazy."

"Have you spoken to your psychiatrist about this?" asked Gideon. "Did she make a diagnosis?"

"She doesn't have to," replied Reid with a sigh. "I have enough symptoms for it and I've already been through this with my mom. At least I understand what's wrong with me."

"Have you talked to Pete?" asked Gideon with concern. "Spencer – have you told anybody this?"

Reid shook his head. "No-one," he said. "Denial, I guess." He looked up, his eyes damp. "I thought it would be more gradual, that I would get some warning." His voice caught. "I don't even remember how it all started."

Gideon leaned forwards towards the young man, who looked so scared. "Have you talked to anybody about what happened?"

Reid shook his head again. "They all keep telling me to talk about how I'm feeling _now_, and what I'm _going_ to do. I can't get it all straight in my head." He paused and rubbed hard at his eyes. "I know I thought I was being kidnapped – it all seemed so real. I didn't know it would feel so real."

Gideon sighed heavily. "Tell me what you remember," he said, "And I'll tell you what happened."

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Gideon didn't tell him everything, but he made sure Reid knew the outline of what had happened to him. Afterwards, the young profiler was pensive. He looked at Gideon intensely. "Just because some of it actually did happen, it doesn't mean I'm not nuts now," he said slowly.

"No," agreed Gideon, "But you need to give yourself time to recover. You have a genetic likelihood of schizophrenia, but you can do the math. A ten percent chance that you will means a ninety percent chance that you won't. Biology isn't your destiny, Spencer."

Reid nodded and almost smiled. Gideon took his hand and squeezed gently. "Talk to Pete, talk to your psychiatrist," he said, "And stop diagnosing yourself. Let someone else be the doctor for a change."

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"Garcia, we're here," said Morgan as he pulled into the hospital parking lot.

Garcia stopped knitting and looked up. She started to put the wool and needles away. "Let's go," she said.

She got out of the car and walked round to the trunk. When she had taken out all the bags, she came to the driver's side. She knocked on the window and Morgan lowered it.

Morgan looked at her and shook his head. "I'll wait here for you. Tell Reid I said hi."

Garcia shook her head. "No way, sugar," she replied. "You can tell him yourself."

"C'mon Garcia," whined Morgan, "I hate hospitals."

Garcia frowned at him. "So do most people. At least you get to visit and go home again. Reid's stuck in here."

Morgan looked nervously at Garcia. "I don't think I can face him," he said, "I don't know what to say to him."

"I know it's not easy," she smiled, "But he needs some friends right now."

Morgan looked down at the steering wheel. "I thought we were never going to get him back," he said sadly. "I'd given up on him. When we opened up that truck, I was sure we were going to find a body. And what we did find . . ." He looked up at Garcia. "I don't cry much, baby, but I did about that."

Garcia leaned into the car and took Morgan's hand. "That was five weeks ago. Gideon told you he is a lot better now." She smiled at him. "Christmas was last week and Reid spent it in here. The least we can do is to give him his gifts. And anyway, you have to come, because I can't carry them all!"

Reluctantly, Morgan got out of the car and took the bags. He followed Garcia across the icy cold parking lot and into the hospital.

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Reid was curled up in an armchair in the day room. He had a short break before group therapy and was glad of some time to himself. The hospital day was tightly structured, ensuring that all patients had plenty to occupy themselves with. He knew there was a point to it, but he was finding the lack of space tiring.

He looked up as Morgan and Garcia came into the day room. Garcia spotted him first and waved excitedly. He nodded at them and they came and sat down next to him.

Reid had pulled his knees up to his chest and had his arms wrapped round his body, his hands pushed into his armpits.

"How you doing, gorgeous?" asked Garcia. "We all miss you."

Reid shrugged. "I'm OK," he said softly.

"Santa has sent a whole bunch of stuff for you," continued Garcia, "He's sorry it's a bit late. The nurses have checked he didn't sneak in anything he wasn't supposed to." She thrust the first bag at him.

"Thank you," whispered Reid. He looked at Morgan who tried to smile encouragingly back.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Garcia spoke. "Don't you want to see what you got?"

Reid uncurled and reached into the bag. He pulled out a knitted rabbit.

"That's from me," giggled Garcia. "You get to name him."

"Um, thank you," said Reid quietly. At Garcia's prompting, he continued to pull gifts from the bags. He acknowledged each one with a soft "Thank you."

Finally, Garcia handed him another bag. "This is from Hotch and Haley. Although I think Haley chose them."

Inside the bag were two soft cashmere sweaters, a pair of leather gloves, and a lavender scented pillow. The bag was from an expensive store. Morgan raised his eyebrows; the Hotchners had spent a lot of money.

Reid held the sweaters for a moment, running his fingers over the soft wool. Then he folded them carefully and replaced them in the bag. He seemed a little overwhelmed by the amount of presents he had received.

Morgan sat in silence as Garcia chatted comfortably. She seemed unfazed by Reid's monosyllabic responses. After a while, she turned to one of the nurses. "Do you think you could show me to the ladies room?" she asked him.

Morgan looked longingly after her as she followed the nurse out of the room, then turned back to Reid and gave him an embarrassed smile. He got another one in return. There was a short period of silence during which Morgan fiddled with his cell phone and Reid watched him.

"So," said Morgan suddenly, "How are they treating you?"

Reid shrugged. "OK," he muttered.

Morgan tried again. "How's the food?"

Reid frowned at him. "It's OK," he replied. "It's a hospital."

"What do you get for breakfast?" asked Morgan.

Reid frowned again. "Oatmeal. Why?"

Morgan shrugged. "Just wondered." He scratched his head and looked around the room. "You sleeping OK?"

"Sometimes," replied Reid. "If it's really bad, I get Ativan and that knocks me out for hours."

Morgan nodded. "Oh," he said. "Gideon said you have a roommate?"

Reid nodded. "Luke - he thinks he's being turned into a cat. At least he doesn't snore."

"Good," replied Morgan. "That's good." He stood up and walked to the window. He looked out for a moment, and then turned back to Reid.

"Can I see your room?" he asked.

"Um, if you want to," said Reid, looking puzzled. He got up slowly and Morgan followed him out of the dayroom.

Reid led him down the corridor and to a closed door. He opened it and gestured for Morgan to go in.

Morgan took a deep breath as he entered the room. It was small and sparsely furnished. There were two beds, one at either side of the room and two wardrobes. One bed was unmade and scattered with clothes and magazines. He walked over to the other bed and sat down. The covers were neatly folded back and there was a notebook and pen arranged on the nightstand. It was definitely Reid's.

He looked up and saw Reid shifting from one foot to another awkwardly. He had his arms wrapped round his body and he was chewing his bottom lip.

"Listen," Morgan said quickly, "Something bad happened to you and it shouldn't have done. Believe me - I am so sorry we didn't find you sooner. We tried as hard as we could. And I really hope you get better soon, because you don't deserve to be sick."

The two men looked at each other. Then Reid smiled, with real warmth this time. "Thanks for coming," he said. "I mean that."

At that moment, a nurse knocked on the door and opened it. "Spencer, you have group in five minutes," she said.

Reid looked apologetically at Morgan. "Sorry," he said. "I have group now."

"Group?" asked Morgan.

"Sitting in a circle talking to a load of other crazy people." Reid gave a sheepish smile. "Apparently it helps." His tone implied he wasn't convinced.

"We'd better find Garcia," replied Morgan and they returned to the dayroom. They found Garcia chatting to Reid's roommate.

She hurried over to Reid. "We have to get going, doll, but do you want a hug?"

Reid hesitated and was then nearly asphyxiated by Garcia throwing her arms around him and squeezing him tight. When she had finished, she took a step back and poked Morgan hard in the ribs.

Reid put his hand up to wave and then Morgan stepped forward and put his arms around the young man. "Take care of yourself," he whispered.

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Hotch was sitting at his desk, reading through the reports from the case the BAU had just finished with. The team had had a difficult time recently – the last few cases had proved extremely thorny and Reid's input had been sorely missed. Hotch had been working even longer hours than usual. He told Haley he was making up for having a missing colleague, but he knew it was just distraction. The leisure time he had was proving more stressful than his work. The guilt and frustration he still felt about Reid crept in whenever he had time to think and he was trying as hard as he could to shut them out.

Hotch looked up as Gideon came into his office. During the past few months, Gideon had been the only person Hotch felt even vaguely comfortable talking to.

"I just spoke with Reid," said Gideon, perching on the corner of Hotch's desk.

"How is he?" asked Hotch, shifting the piles of paperwork to the other side.

"He sounds low," replied Gideon. "He kept saying he wants to go home. I'm worried about him."

"When does the court order expire?" asked Hotch.

"He's been in there for three months – he could be held for another three," replied Gideon, his voice heavy. "If he wants to have the order lifted, he's going to need a lawyer."

Hotch looked at Gideon. The older agent gave him an encouraging smile and his eyebrows rose.

Hotch shook his head. "Not my area of expertise, Jason," he said quickly. "I can give you some names, but I can't do it."

"Hotch," said Gideon, leaning towards him, "You haven't even been to see him."

Hotch looked down at the files on his desk. "I've, you know, been, um," he floundered.

"Why won't you go and visit?" asked Gideon.

Hotch sighed and put his head in his hands. He groaned and then spoke, not looking up at Gideon. "I can't," he said sadly, "I can't face him. What happened to him – it was all because of me."

"C'mon Hotch," said Gideon kindly, "You know that's not true. Reid does not blame you for this."

Hotch looked up, his face pained. "Reid has been through hell because he was kind enough to give Haley a ride home. Something_ I_ asked him to do."

"And that makes it your fault?" asked Gideon. "Do you need him to yell at you?"

Hotch shrugged. "He has every right to," he said. "I guess I should let him."

"And don't you think Reid might be worried about facing you?" asked Gideon. "The last time you saw him he was covered in blood and crying for his mother. You need to let him see that you don't think any the less of him for that."

"I don't . . ." Hotch started.

"I know that, but Reid doesn't," interrupted Gideon. "You know how insecure he is – he needs your approval. The longer you leave it before you see him, the more of an issue it becomes."

"I let him down, Jason," said Hotch miserably, "I didn't stop it."

"None of us did," said Gideon. "But he survived. And now you _can_ do something to help him."

There was silence. Hotch rested his chin on his hands and closed his eyes. He was dreading seeing Reid but he also knew he couldn't leave the young man there. He looked at Gideon, who was nodding encouragingly at him.

"But is he really well enough to be living on his own?" asked Hotch.

Gideon smiled at him. "There's a place near Mountain Lake. I spent a few weeks there – after Boston."

"Another hospital?" asked Hotch.

Gideon shook his head. "No," he replied, "It's a retreat. They have therapists – they deal mainly with post traumatic stress disorder. It'll give Reid some space and support while he gets ready to go home."

Hotch thought for a moment. "OK," he said, "I owe it to him get him out of there."

"Good," said Gideon with a smile, clapping Hotch on the shoulder. He started to walk out of the office. Then he turned back. "Oh, the hearing is in two days," said Gideon with a wink.

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**Epilogue**

Despite the chilly spring air, Reid lowered the car window slightly. He wanted to feel the breeze on his skin and in his hair. He pulled his coat tighter and turned to Gideon. "Do you mind?" he asked.

Gideon smiled at him. "Fresh air always does you good," he replied. "You want to put the radio on?"

Reid shook his head. "It's nice just to have some quiet," he said. "How long will it take?"

"To get to Mountain Lake?" replied Gideon, "Probably four or five hours. We'll stop somewhere nice for lunch. Is there something particular you fancy?"

Reid smiled. "Anything is going to beat hospital food. Even McDonalds." He paused. "Well, maybe not McDonalds."

Gideon laughed. "Definitely not McDonalds."

"Actually – could we get ice-cream?" asked Reid. "I haven't had ice-cream since, um." His voice trailed off and he looked down at his hands. "Not since a long time."

"Sure," replied Gideon kindly. "We can get ice-cream."

Reid looked out of the window. The buds were showing on the trees and the first flowers were peeking out amongst the hedgerows. The sunlight was still pale but there was new warmth in it. The darkness of winter was fading away and nature was reawakening with the brighter, fresher colours of spring.

Gideon turned the car up a long driveway. Both men sat in silence until he brought it to a stop. Then he turned to Reid. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

Reid bit his bottom lip and nodded.

"OK," replied Gideon, "The flowers are on the back seat. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, thank you. I'm good," said Reid. "Is it just here?"

Gideon nodded and Reid got out of the car. He took the bunch of dark red and white roses from the back seat and walked through the graves to the one he was looking for.

He stood in front of it for a moment, reading the inscription.

_In Memory of Jessica Anne Child_

_Died 23rd February 2006_

_Age 35_

Reid squatted down and raked his fingers lightly over the freshly turned soil. He bent his head to the roses and inhaled their sweet scent. It was strong but there was freshness and sharpness to it. The petals felt cool and delicate against his cheeks. He had asked Gideon for these flowers specifically – white roses for innocence and crimson roses for mourning.

Reid placed the flowers gently next to the headstone. "I hope we both find some peace," he whispered.

He didn't expect many others to understand but he couldn't hate her. There had been enough pain – Jessica's need for revenge had already destroyed so much. Trying to forgive her was the biggest gift he could give himself. He needed to go forwards, to regain his life, and not be dragged back by the weight of bitterness and anger.

He stood up and took a deep breath. Then he tucked his hair behind his ear and headed back to the car.

"Ready?" asked Gideon.

"Ready," said Reid and he got into the car.

It was time to go.

THE END

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed or sent me a PM. I have really enjoyed writing this and getting some feedback has been really encouraging. There has been more vomit than I originally intended (!) and I think every team member has cried at some point – this has been a fairly dark fic. However, life is like that sometimes and thank you all for sticking with it.

I am tempted with a sequel – let me know what you thought about this one.


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